


Chiaroscuro Episode 4:  The Multiverse Theory

by ThatSameSong



Series: Chiaroscuro (Life is Strange AU) [4]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe, Bisexual Female Character, Creepy Mark Jefferson, F/F, Female Friendship, Gen, Guns, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kidnapping, Lesbian Character, Male-Female Friendship, Role Reversal, Time Travel, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23549302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatSameSong/pseuds/ThatSameSong
Summary: Consequences and realities converge as Chloe and Max race against the clock to find Rachel Amber.
Relationships: Maxine "Max" Caulfield/Chloe Price
Series: Chiaroscuro (Life is Strange AU) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668319
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	1. Alternate Reality - Max's Bedroom

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: As with Episode 4 in the original game, this episode starts off pretty depressing. There's also some implied self-harm (as well as the other stuff mentioned in the tags). There are some light spots here and there, plus some of the more interesting unused content from the original game worked into the plot. Just a fair warning.

Max guided Chloe up the stairs and to her bedroom. Chloe knew the way, but she let Max take her. Chloe was too dazed to say anything. She couldn’t even think of a snarky comment to diffuse the awkward tension.

There were more scars. The remnants of third degree burns all over Max’s fingers and hands. _Jesus._ Chloe spotted some scars snaking down the back of Max’s neck. It almost looked deliberate and artistic, but Chloe knew better.

“You can ask,” said Max.

She shoved open her bedroom door.

For a brief minute, Chloe expected Other Max’s room. Chloe had to keep readjusting herself to this brand new reality. Was it even a _new_ reality? What exactly had happened in the alternate universe Chloe left behind? Had she just disappeared from existence, leaving Other Max to figure out what the fuck was going on?

“Uh, what?” said Chloe.

She was looking around for signs of Other Max. Nothing obvious. There were Polaroids pinned all over the walls, but there seemed to be less of them. Max still had her cute fantasy nerd posters and her unicorn lamp. Everything was bright and cheery. There were glass ballerina figurines lined up on the dresser, an impressive collection of snow globes on Max’s desk, and neatly stacked notebooks. No folk band posters.

“About the accident,” said Max.

She dropped into her desk chair and stared at Chloe. Chloe didn’t like the look on Max’s face. It wasn’t even a _look._ Other than that smile, Max had barely emoted since Chloe got there.

Chloe nervously tugged at her shirt. She missed her hoodie. For some reason she was wearing a plain white T-shirt with a jean jacket over it and shorts with leggings. Chloe wasn’t completely opposed to the outfit, but it wasn’t something she remembered having in her closet.

“Oh yeah,” said Chloe. “The, uh, _accident._ You—you good to talk about it?”

She frantically searched her own head for any information about an accident. But it was blank in there. Chloe had zero memory of anything recent from this universe. She had a few scattered clusters of memories that _might_ have been from this new reality, but Chloe wasn’t sure. If she had to be all scientific about this? Chloe theorized that she’d “shifted”–for lack of a better word—into the body of her alternate self, completely erasing Other Chloe from existence.

Max shrugged.

“I don’t remember a lot of it,” she said. “It was my first time driving by myself. Some asshole plowed right into me. He—he barely got a scratch. But I–”

Her voice shook a little. The first real sign of human emotion Max had shown in the last few minutes. But it was gone as quickly as it came. A second later, Max was back to talking in her lifeless monotone.

“I woke up and the doctors said I was lucky,” said Max. “It was mostly physical. _Mostly._ I could still walk and talk and everything. I wasn’t going to be in a wheelchair forever.”

Her fingers twitched. She moved her hands to her lap and looked at them, staring at the scars crisscrossing from her knuckles to her fingernails. Max’s face, back, and arms had seemingly gotten the worst of it.

“I was in the hospital for two months,” said Max. “They said—they said I was lucky. Third degree burns suck.”

Chloe adjusted her jacket. She needed something to do with her hands, something to distract her from the thoughts jumping all over her head.

“You _are_ lucky,” said Chloe. “You’re a total boss for surviving that.”

She felt a pang of guilt. _And you still couldn’t be here for your best friend, Price. You were off having fun in Seattle while Max was suffering. Proud of yourself, loser?_

Max traced the scars on her right hand with her thumb.

“I don’t know,” said Max.

Chloe forced herself to grin.

“Chicks dig scars,” said Chloe.

The grin froze on Chloe’s face. _Fuck._ This new reality was like a kick in the face every two minutes. Chloe didn’t _know_ this Max. And Max wasn’t giving her anything.

“That’s what Warren said,” said Max. “He’s such a dork.”

Chloe’s heart skipped a beat. So Max was still dating Warren? How was Chloe supposed to feel about that? Honestly, she felt a little twinge of jealousy at the thought of this Warren guy kissing and cuddling _her_ Max. But Chloe squashed that—or at least tried to—because she knew it was irrational. Max could date whoever she wanted. She had to keep reminding herself that this wasn’t Other Max. This wasn’t the Max that Chloe had kissed.

“Yeah, Warren,” said Chloe.

She bit her lip, choosing her words carefully.

“That’s still going on?” said Chloe.

Max rubbed her arm.

“He was there for me,” Max said.

Chloe flinched. _Ouch._ She almost felt Max twisting the knife. But seriously, what did Max want from her? Chloe had written letters. She’d texted. Sure, Chloe probably hadn’t written or texted as much as she could have, but still. _You weren’t here, asshole. You wrote to her about all the fun you were having in Seattle, all the cool people you were hanging out with. But. You. Weren’t. Here._

Those letters and texts probably made Max feel ten times worse. Chloe was over in Seattle partying her ass off and Max was trapped in a hospital bed. Maybe Chloe could have been just a little more sensitive.

Chloe’s phone buzzed. She welcomed the distraction. Anything was better than this conversation.

“Better take this,” said Chloe.

She stepped out of Max’s bedroom to read the text. That wasn’t something she normally did, but Chloe just needed to get out of that room. She needed to breathe for a few minutes. Or maybe an hour. This was way too much for one person to process. Chloe needed at least three extra brains to compute this shit.

Standing in the hallway, Chloe felt some of that tension leave her body. She’d spent so much time moving. Moving away from Steph and Mikey, running to Max’s house, following Max to the bedroom. And Chloe still barely understood this universe. What other stuff had she changed?

The text was from Mikey. He wanted to know if Chloe was okay.

She went through the rest of her messages. There had to be more information in there. Some important facts about this alternate reality that Chloe could build from.

Brooke—without the slightest hint of assholery—wanted to know if Chloe was interested in flying her drone. And Chloe—the _other_ Chloe—had apparently texted back that she would love to, because who didn’t want to fly a drone? Chloe had some wonderful ideas involving homemade fireworks and Brooke’s drone.

Stella wanted to know if Chloe was going to be returning the book she’d borrowed sometime in the near future. Other Chloe had texted back that she would get the book to Stella before the end of the week. Stella had responded with a double middle finger emoji.

Steph and Mikey were doing some kind of movie night and Chloe was invited. Other Chloe hadn’t RSVP-ed yet.

Chloe’s dad was worried about her diet for some reason. He texted her about eight times to remind her that she needed a balanced breakfast to start every day. He also wished her a happy birthday and mentioned the two gift cards—one from him, the other from Chloe’s mom—they had sent her.

Nathan Prescott had texted Chloe a dozen times. Chloe wasn’t sure she wanted to read them. A dozen texts from a Prescott was _never_ a good sign. How did that freak even have her number? Must have snagged it from her file or something. Nathan was such a fucking creep.

Chloe reluctantly read through her and Nathan’s most recent conversation.

_2:03 AM Nathan: Hey, you up?_

_2:05 AM Chloe: Am now. What’s up?_

_2:06 AM Nathan: Can’t sleep. Developing some pics in the dark room._

_2:06 AM Chloe: Cool cool._

_2:07 AM Nathan: Its ok. I’m ok._

_2:07 AM Chloe: Bullshit. You know I’m no snitch, right?_

_2:07 AM Nathan: Yeah yeah_

_2:08 AM Chloe: Swing by? I’ll load the bowl._

_2:09 AM Nathan: Great. Usual?_

_2:10 AM Chloe: Yeah. Girls’ bathroom. Five minutes._

_2:10 AM Nathan: Awesome. Be there._

Chloe blinked. _Holy shit._ Nathan sounded almost….almost _normal._ And now that Chloe thought about it, the guy she’d glimpsed in the parking lot—this reality’s Nathan—had looked relatively sane. Was this how Nathan was with his buddies? More importantly, why the fuck was Other Chloe texting Nathan Prescott like they were best friends?

She went through the photos on her phone. There were some shots of Chloe with Steph and Mikey. Shots Chloe didn’t recognize. She apparently hung out with both of them a lot more in this universe.

There was one recent photo that snatched Chloe’s attention. It was a group shot. Chloe, Nathan, Steph, and Mikey. The four of them standing in a place Chloe didn’t recognize. It looked like the interior of an abandoned barn that someone had turned into a bar. Everyone was grinning at the camera. That was the happiest Chloe had ever seen Nathan Prescott. His arm was around Chloe’s shoulders and they both looked totally high out of their minds. High and happy.

Chloe stared at the photo for a long time. It felt wrong, but not in the kind of way that made her feel sick. It was wrong the same way everything else in this brand new universe was wrong. And it was doing something to Chloe’s emotions, something she didn’t like.

Chloe shoved her phone into her pocket and went back into Max’s room.

Max was lying in bed with the hi-fi on. “Looking Too Closely” by Fink was playing. This scene felt a little too familiar.

“You, uh, want me to grab you something from the kitchen?” said Chloe.

She’d changed her mind. On second thought, Chloe still wasn’t ready to be in this room. She required at least ten more breathers. Maybe some weed and a bottle of something strong to calm her nerves.

“Water,” said Max.

She sounded as passionate about it as she did about everything else. At least Other Max had some fire in her. This new Max was like a wet sponge. Not that Chloe could blame her. That accident must have wrecked Max’s sense of humor.

Chloe hurried out of Max’s bedroom. She went downstairs, smiling faintly at the familiar creak of the stairs. Some things never changed. From what Chloe had seen, the house was mostly the same. The only huge difference was that it felt a little less cheerful.

Ryan was getting something out of the fridge when Chloe came into the kitchen. She automatically tried to turn around and leave. It wasn’t that Chloe didn’t want to talk to Ryan. She just didn’t want to talk to him at that precise moment in time.

“Chloe,” said Ryan.

He straightened up and grinned at her. Chloe had always assumed that Ryan didn’t like her. He tolerated her for Max’s sake, but Chloe was pretty sure neither of the Caulfields were too thrilled with Max’s choice of friends. Something about Chloe setting off homemade firecrackers in Max’s bedroom that one time. Chloe could tell what Ryan was hiding behind that grin: he was wondering why Chloe hadn’t been more of a friend when his daughter really needed her.

“Mr. Caulfield,” said Chloe.

She had never called him that. He was always “Ryan” to her.

Ryan sighed and shut the fridge door.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” he said. “Max hasn’t smiled like that in a long time.”

Chloe smiled. She was thinking about how Ryan would have reacted if he’d known about Max and Chloe’s kiss. He probably would have shit his pants. There was no way Ryan Caulfield thought Chloe Price was good enough for his precious daughter.

“I _do_ have that effect on people,” said Chloe.

Ryan didn’t return the smile. He crossed his arms and shook his head.

“I’m not gonna sugarcoat it,” he said. “Its been rough. We’re so glad Max is with us, but…. The hospital bills. _Jesus_.”

Chloe’s stomach turned over. She wanted to take full responsibility. It was ironic: Chloe was used to not taking the blame for how badly she fucked up. But now she couldn’t actually take the blame because no one was going to believe her. And even if they had, the fallout wouldn’t have been worth it.

_Crap._ How was Chloe ever going to make it up to the Caulfields? How was she ever going to forgive herself for almost killing Max? It was like Max ended up getting hurt every time Chloe tried to make Max’s life better. So much of every timeline seemed to revolve around Max being in physical and emotional pain. It was as if the universe got off on making Max miserable.

“Hey, at least she’s not Rachel Amber,” said Chloe.

Ryan frowned.

“The missing girl?” he said. “I read about that. Must be such a nightmare for the Ambers. You know, I’ve met Rachel’s dad. Stand-up guy.”

So Rachel was still missing. That made sense. The Rachel stuff started before Chloe returned to Arcadia Bay. But still, a part of Chloe had been expecting Rachel to be okay somehow.

“Did you know her?” said Ryan.

Chloe paused. That was such a loaded question. Yeah, she _did_ know Rachel. Chloe knew more about Rachel than anyone should have. But in this alternate reality, Chloe was totally clueless. There was no investigation and Max didn’t know about Chloe’s time powers.

“Too rich for my blood,” said Chloe. “And I guess Max’s too.”

A reality where Max hadn’t met Rachel Amber. And someone had still managed to steal Max’s heart because they were actually there for her. _Seeing a pattern, Price?_

Chloe grabbed a glass from the cupboard and went over to the sink. She was momentarily shocked that she even remembered where the glasses were. But that made sense, right? This was Max’s house. In any and every timeline, this was where the Caulfields lived. Chloe had spent so much of her childhood there.

“Max has been….,” Ryan said.

He looked up at the ceiling.

“Withdrawn,” he finished. “I think she blames herself. I-I try not to worry her, but…I just don’t know. We had to mortgage our house.”

The glass almost slipped through Chloe’s fingers. She clamped her hand around it and chewed her bottom lip. _Jesus Christ._ She knew the accident was bad, but… _fuck._ It must have been way worse than it looked. The medical bills, getting the car replaced, the _guilt._ How much did the Caulfields blame themselves?

“It’s fine,” said Chloe. “I’m here now. For Max.”

Her hand shook. But where was she five years ago? Where was she when some asshole in a car was barreling towards her best friend? Max really could have used her super-powered buddy. In fact, Max probably would have settled for regular Chloe.

Chloe took the glass of water up to Max’s bedroom. Well, that had been the most awkward conversation she’d ever had with Ryan Caulfield. Chloe thought she’d be happy that he was alive. And she was, but only for Max’s sake.

Max was holding a messenger bag. It wasn’t the bag Chloe recognized. There were no _Save the Whales_ or _The Future is Female_ patches sewn on it. It was just a regular bag. The sight of it made Chloe sad for some reason.

“Let’s sneak out the window,” said Max.

Chloe put the glass on the desk. _Weird_. Usually it was Chloe encouraging Max to sneak out after a sleepover. They never actually did it, but it was fun to see how quickly and firmly Max dug in her heels about sneaking out.

“Cool,” said Chloe. “Uh, _why?”_

Max leaned over her desk and shoved the window open. She looked like she’d done this before.

“Do you need a reason?” said Max.

Chloe folded her arms. Was it strange that she was trying to be the voice of reason? _Jesus Christ._ What the fuck happened to her? Was it all the time travel? Chloe had caught a glimpse of herself—a reflection in her phone screen—after she finished scrolling through her messages. She could have sworn she looked older. Chloe had lived through so many alternate realities in such a short time. Enough for her to feel like she’d aged a thousand years.

“Yeah,” said Chloe. “Won’t your parents get pissed?”

Max was already climbing on top of her desk. She’d definitely done this before. There was zero hesitation. One minute she was standing there, the next minute she was on top of her desk like a pro. Chloe knew from experience that the first was always the most terrifying. Chloe had to get away with it a dozen times before she was confident.

“They’re always a little pissed,” said Max. “They act like they have to put me in a cage and protect me forever. They don’t even want me to go to Blackwell anymore because of that missing girl.”

She was out of the window before Chloe could ask any questions. This time Chloe was the hesitant one. She only gave in because she realized she wasn’t scoring any points with the Caulfields. They were totally going to accuse her of kidnapping their daughter.

* * *

Chloe thought Max was taking her to the lighthouse, but Max guided her into town. Apparently they were heading to the Two Whales diner.

Max was running. Chloe had to jog to catch up with her. Normally Chloe was the one leaving Max in the dust. Chloe didn’t even do it on purpose. She was a fast walker. She liked to get stuff done. Other people just had to deal with it.

Chloe stuffed her hands into her pockets. Why did she feel like all the Caulfields—including Max—hated her? It was almost like they subconsciously knew this was all her fault. But that wasn’t how time travel worked, right? Was Chloe being paranoid over nothing? _You want them to hate you, Price. Get the fuck over yourself._

“So, uh, Rachel Amber,” Chloe said. “Any leads yet? Um, I mean, do the police have any leads?”

Max shrugged her shoulders.

“Nope,” said Max.

Chloe ran through a list of generic questions in her head. She had no clue what to talk about. They’d already covered the accident, Rachel Amber, and how happy Max was that Chloe was back in her life. Without the investigation, there really wasn’t anything for Chloe to say. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Chloe had a lot she wanted to say to Other Max. But Other Max was in some alternate reality doing god-knows-what.

They spent the rest of the walk in complete silence. Chloe’s phone buzzed a few times, but she ignored it. It was probably another dozen messages from Nathan or Mikey or whoever wanted to get in contact with her. Max was more important.

The Two Whales was deserted. Chloe sighed in relief when she saw the empty booths. She really didn’t want to run into someone from Blackwell. Chloe had had enough awkward conversations for one day.

Chloe and Max grabbed a booth near the door. Chloe ordered a burger and some waffle fries. Max went for a plain black coffee.

Chloe raised her eyebrow.

“Dude, you’re not bumming fries off me,” said Chloe. “Or has the Max Factor de-evolved out of her heathen vegetarian ways?”

Max squinted at Chloe in confusion.

“What?” she said. “I’m not a vegetarian, Chloe. I had a fat stack of bacon this morning.”

Chloe stared at the tabletop, yanking a napkin out of the dispenser. _Crap._ She shouldn’t have just assumed this Max was a vegetarian. Chloe had been looking forward to razzing her about that. Getting back into the routine. Pretending everything was normal.

“Right,” said Chloe. “I-I was thinking of someone else. My bad.”

Max crossed her arms and leaned back in her seat. She rolled her eyes.

“Of course you were,” she said.

Chloe let out a groan of frustration. It was like she was screaming at a brick wall. She thought things were going well. She thought Max would be _happy._ Where was all this coming from?

“Look, just because I wasn’t kissing your ass every day…,” Chloe started.

She shut her mouth. _Crap_ _._ She didn’t mean to say that. It just fell out of her. Chloe was getting sick of whatever this was. She felt like she was being forced out of the loop. Who even was she in this reality? A geeky scientist with a “best friend” who clearly didn’t like her? Was any of this worth all the shit Chloe had gone through?

“I didn’t need you to kiss my ass, Chloe,” said Max. “I have people for that.”

Chloe snorted. _Fuck. This._ _Reality_ _._

“Oh, like Warren Graham?” said Chloe. “The Boy Who Cared? Get over yourself, Max. Just because I didn’t call or text or write _every single day–”_

Max grabbed the edge of the table. Her hands were shaking involuntarily, her fingers scraping the tabletop.

“If you didn’t want to talk to me, you could have just said it,” said Max. “No one wants to be friends with me. I get that. But I thought at least _you_ would treat me like a person. Grow some balls, Chloe. Don’t just ignore my texts and write to me once a month. Don’t walk in here and pretend you still give a shit.”

Chloe sat back in her seat. She needed a minute to process what Max had just said. Chloe knew she was a fuck-up. She knew she hadn’t treated Max the way any friend deserved to be treated. But even after what she said, after what she _did,_ she _still_ ended up practically ghosting Max? She still couldn’t find the time to get off her ass and be a friend from Seattle? That didn’t sound like Chloe at all.

But it wasn’t her. This was a Chloe who broke promises.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” said Chloe. “I’m the worst.”

The waitress had arrived with Chloe’s food and Max’s coffee. Chloe barely even noticed.

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” said Max.

She reached for her coffee. The conversation had apparently ended, or at least Max was acting like there was nothing else to say. And maybe there wasn’t. Maybe there was nothing Chloe could do to reel this in. Max had already made her decision. The only remaining mystery was why Max was even indulging Chloe with this conversation.

Max’s fingers twitched. She winced and grabbed the side of her head.

“ _Fuck,”_ she said.

Chloe instinctively reached across the table, but she quickly pulled her hand back.

“You cool?” said Chloe.

Max shook her head. She reached for her coffee again, still wincing.

“Migraine,” she said. “I get those a lot. Because of the accident. It really hurts.”

She picked up her coffee and took a long sip. She didn’t even flinch at the bitterness. Other Max would have dumped ten or twenty sugar packets and a shitload of cream in that cup before she took the first sip. Max must have built up a tolerance while Chloe was away.

“And the doctor’s okay with this?” said Chloe.

Max shrugged, staring out the window.

“They can’t do anything about it,” said Max. “It’s fine as long as I take my meds. I—I have a lot of meds I have to take. For the pain.”

Chloe tried not to stare at the burned patches of Max’s face. She hadn’t even considered the internal stuff. The fact that Max was still dealing with it made Chloe feel even worse about being responsible. _Nice job saving your bestest buddy, Price._

Chloe fidgeted.

“Are you in pain a lot?” said Chloe.

She hadn’t touched her waffle fries or the burger. Appetite officially lost. Chloe wished Max would reach across the table and try to nab a fry. Chloe would playfully slap Max’s hand away, they would laugh, and everything would be normal. Chloe wouldn’t have needed a rewind to enjoy the moment.

“Bad days and good days,” said Max. “Today’s a bad day.”

She reached up to a strand of hair out of her face. Her sleeve slipped down a little when she moved. It was one of those big comfy sweaters. The kind that was just one or two sizes too big. Max hadn’t been the biggest fan of pink the last time Chloe had seen her. The cheery color contrasted with Max’s mood.

Chloe caught a split second glimpse of Max’s wrist. Her heart skipped a beat. There were more scars. But Chloe already knew that. She’d noticed how the scars disappeared into Max’s sleeves and neckline. There was probably an entire canvas of them under Max’s shirt. But those scars seemed different. They looked almost…self-inflicted?

Max lowered her arm, her sleeve falling over her wrist. She folded her arms on the table, her face still blank and emotionless.

Chloe looked down at her own hands. She realized that she’d been shredding a napkin the entire time. There was a little pile of it on the table in front of her. She looked at the pile to avoid looking at Max’s face.

“Max, are you _okay?”_ said Chloe.

Max turned and stared out the window, watching the cars pass and the people walk by. It was starting to get dark. Max needed to get home soon and Chloe needed to get back to Blackwell. Neither of them wanted to do either of those things.

“I’m awesome,” said Max.

She spoke in the same humorless monotone. Surreptitiously—because she thought Chloe wasn’t paying attention—Max yanked her sleeves down further.


	2. The Boys' Dormitory

Max said she could go home by herself, so Chloe went back to Blackwell on her own. Chloe trusted that Max could sneak back into her house and her parents would never know she’d been gone. Or maybe the Caulfields already knew about Max sneaking out, but they were pretending to be oblivious because they wanted to give their daughter some space.

Chloe’s stomach rumbled. She hadn’t really eaten at the diner. She’d nibbled on a single waffle chip before she left, but that was about it.

 _I did this. This is all my fault._ The thoughts pounded in Chloe’s head. A part of her wanted to believe that she wasn’t really to blame for any of this. After all, Chloe had basically jumped into the body and mind of someone who wasn’t responsible. So didn’t that make Chloe innocent by proxy or something? No, that didn’t make any sense.

Chloe couldn’t live here. That had been obvious from the moment she stepped foot in Max’s bedroom. But it hadn’t solidified until her and Max had that talk in the diner. This wasn’t one of Chloe’s normal screw-ups. This was cosmic levels of screwing up. And Chloe was the only person who could fix it.

She was _going_ to fix it, Chloe decided as she walked onto campus. She just needed to grab her graffiti journal from her bedroom. This would all be over in a few minutes. The other universe wasn’t exactly perfect, but at least it was better than this.

Chloe sprinted to the girls’ dormitory. The only problem was that she would essentially be killing Ryan. Could Chloe live with that? Regardless of how shitty this universe was, could she really choose one life over another?

She slowed down as she neared the dormitory. Chloe was being selfish. She fully accepted that. She cared more about Max’s potential happiness and their relationship than she did about Max being able to be with her dad. But Chloe had always been kind of selfish with her rewind, right? And Chloe had ignored Samantha and been an all-around crappy friend. _You’re not the hero, Price. You’re just a fucking loser._

Chloe stopped on the steps, her heart thumping like someone beating their fists on her chest.

Nathan Prescott was sitting on the top step. He was reading a textbook, something Chloe had literally never seen him do. She was convinced that Nathan didn’t even study. The teachers just handed him good grades because of his rich daddy. But this Nathan looked very _not_ Nathan. He was even dressed differently, but who wasn’t in this topsy-turvy alternate universe?

Nathan shut the textbook and looked up. He was smiling. An actual smile that didn’t make him look like a hungry wolf. Who _was_ this guy?

“Oh hey,” said Nathan. “I was, uh, waiting for someone.”

He sounded so pleasant and not completely on edge. There were none of those tell-tale symptoms of trauma and drug withdrawal that Chloe had detected on Other Nathan. If this Nathan was messing with drugs, he was doing it responsibly and not just shot-gunning pills and booze. But why?

“You found her,” said Chloe.

Had she ever actually _talked_ to Nathan? Probably not. Nathan wasn’t the kind of person who would let Chloe Price talk to him. He would have bitten her head off before she even started up a conversation. And Chloe didn’t want to talk to him because he was a freak who was constantly hopped up on God-knows-what. So that worked out. Or at least it worked out in the other universe.

“Sorry,” said Nathan. “Shitty day.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. If Chloe hadn’t known any better, she would have thought he looked _normal._ But this was still Nathan, the guy who’d shot Chloe’s best friend in the bathroom.

“Thanks,” he said. “For, I guess, talking to me? I know I’ve been sort of _erratic_ lately. I haven’t been sleeping. And my dad’s, well, my dad.”

Chloe had a hunch. And she also had a rewind, so there was zero risk in following it.

“You taking your meds?” she said.

Nathan laughed.

“What, like, _the pills?”_ said Nathan. “Yeah, Frank’s hooking me up. Wish I could get this shit over the counter. But you know how it is, right? My dad would freak.”

He fidgeted a little.

“You were totally right,” he said. “It sucks that I blew up at you. But always trust the nerd, am I right? You know your stuff, Heisenberg.”

Chloe blinked. _Hold on._ Had Nathan Prescott just said she was right? And more importantly, was Sean Prescott trying to stop his son from getting the meds he needed? Why would he do that? None of that added up. Chloe was tempted to assume Nathan was spewing bullshit again. But Chloe was pretty sure Nathan would have never lied about his family. If there was one thing Nathan was honest about, it was the fact that he despised his dad. Chloe was starting to see why.

“No problem,” said Chloe. “Wanna swing by later? Movie night? Get blazed?”

Nathan bit his lip and nodded.

“Sounds awesome,” said Nathan. “I’ll—I’ll swing by after the dark room, okay? I’ve got some stuff to do in there.”

Chloe promised she’d stay up for him. Not that it mattered. Chloe was about to bail on this universe. Other Chloe could handle Nathan.

Chloe headed into the dormitory and walked to her room.

Her room was exactly the same. Same posters, same hi-fi. There was a stack of science books on the nightstand. Chloe didn’t remember leaving those there, but then again she didn’t remember anything. The important thing was her graffiti journal. It had to be somewhere.

She felt like she had broken into a stranger’s bedroom. Frantically running around yanking open drawers and throwing stuff off shelves didn’t really help. Chloe had never actually considered how disorganized and messy her space was. It was _her_ space, so who gave a shit? Ms. Holt always said that a messy room was the burden of a creative person. Given the normal state of Chloe’s room at Blackwell, she was probably a super genius.

Chloe finally found the journal. It was stuffed between two quantum physics books. Chloe yanked it out and waved it around in triumph. _Fuck yes!_ Time to change time. Also time to stop making bad jokes about her powers.

She flipped to the page with the butterfly graffiti.

Was this the right thing to do? Chloe wasn’t really giving Max a choice. She’d never given Max a choice about anything. And she felt shitty about abandoning her best friend again, even if this wasn’t really abandoning her.

Chloe chewed her lip and stared at the butterfly. What would Max do? Max would have stayed. Max would have tried to fix this universe instead of jumping to another. Max would have never left her best friend in some depressing alternate reality. Max would have actually cared. And Chloe _did_ care. Every Max in every reality was worth caring for. Did Chloe have the right to pick and choose which Max she was with? Who even gave her that power?

She held up her hand and flexed her fingers. _Oh. Right._ The universe or science or whatever gave her that power. And Chloe was _trying_ to use her powers for good. She really was. But she wasn’t sure what that even meant anymore. What was the point of all this?

Chloe grimaced. She knew the point. She’d known it from the beginning: keeping Max alive and finding Rachel Amber. Figuring out what was happening in Arcadia Bay. And maybe unlocking the truth about Chloe’s powers. Chloe couldn’t do any of those things here. She needed to go back.

She focused on the butterfly. She needed to accept all the ways she’d fucked up. The universe wasn’t giving Chloe any handouts.

The world twisted, collapsed, and spun all at once. Chloe had no idea what was going to happen to Other Chloe. Would the timeline simply erase everything up to that point and keep going as if Chloe had never been there? Or would Other Chloe wake up in her dorm room with all these strange memories and put the pieces together? Chloe had no way of knowing what was happening on the other side. And she was okay with that, because it was one less thing for her to stress about.

Chloe blinked. She was her thirteen-year-old self again. Long hair, sweatshirt, smell of waffle batter in the air. Chloe wasn’t back yet. She was making a pit stop before the universe spat her out.

Max and Ryan were laughing in the kitchen. Laughing and stirring and cracking eggs. They’d made a huge mess on the counter. There were globs of waffle batter everywhere. Ryan was talking about how they needed to clean up before Vanessa got home. They were….a family. Just like Chloe and her parents.

How could Chloe take this away from her best friend? If the tables had been turned, if it was William instead of Ryan, Chloe would have wanted Max to keep him alive. So how was she fine with ruining her best friend’s life _again?_ Especially after Chloe busted her ass to keep Max alive.

They didn’t even notice Chloe was there. And Chloe didn’t want them to notice. She wanted Max to have this nice little moment, even if it wasn’t going to last. If Chloe could, she would have rewound this over and over again just to hear Max laughing. To remind herself that Max used to be happy.

Max _was_ happy. Maybe not as happy as she was here, laughing with her dad and making waffles. But Chloe had seen that smile before. She’d seen it in the alternate reality when Max first saw her in the doorway. She’d seen it a few times when Max and her were together, when Chloe cracked a joke. Chloe had seen it after Max kissed her.

Chloe leaned against the doorway. She stifled a groan, determined not to ruin Max’s good time. Max was going to hate her. Max was going to be more pissed than she ever had been in her entire life. But Chloe could deal with that. Max was already pissed at her for being the world’s worst friend. Why not plop something else on the pile?

It all played out the exact way it did before. The phone rang, Ryan answered. Max stayed in the kitchen, completely oblivious. But Chloe didn’t get to be oblivious. Chloe had to know everything that was going to happen. Every word Ryan spoke was like a nail in Chloe’s chest.

Chloe’s stomach flipped over. She should have never done this. She told herself she was doing the right thing, that she was going to make up for all those years of barely any contact. But saving Ryan wasn’t going to magically make Chloe’s fuck-ups disappear. This was totally on her. It was never about Ryan Caulfield or Nathan Prescott or anyone else. Just Chloe.

Chloe erased the graffiti on the fireplace. She couldn’t let herself come back there. Chloe had—or at least she told herself she had—learned her lesson. Her rewind was fine. But massive leaps like this? She was never hurting Max like that again.

Ryan left the house. He waved, blissfully unaware that this was the last time he would ever see his daughter. And Max waved back, unaware that this was the last time she would ever make waffles with her dad. And Chloe stood in the doorway, aware of everything and mentally beating herself up over it.

Max went over to Chloe and grabbed both of her hands.

“Are you okay?” she said. “You look freaked out.”

Chloe let out a bitter laugh. Understatement of the decade. She was about to relive this horrible day in fast motion. She was about to live a huge chunk of her life in fast motion so she could end up back where she was before. It was like a weird paradox. The further back she went, the less Chloe’s choices mattered.

“Kind of, yeah,” said Chloe.

She squeezed Max’s hands. It was okay. _It was okay._ They were going to do a lot more than hand-holding in the future. Max was going to be and say and do so many things. At least Chloe could be thankful for that. She could appreciate the Max she knew.

“I’m moving,” said Chloe. “It’s for my dad’s job. We’re gone in a few weeks. I’ve—I’ve been waiting to tell you since forever.”

She didn’t wait for Max to respond to that. Chloe knew exactly what Max was going to say. She knew more about Max than she thought she had a right to.

“I’ll—I’ll try to keep in touch,” said Chloe. “I’ll try to write. I’ll text. I’ll—I’ll do whatever I have to do.”

She yanked Max towards her, pulling her into a hug. That was a promise Chloe knew she couldn’t entirely keep, but she was going to try. And when she came back from Seattle? She was going to do everything she could to make Max forget about this horrible day. Chloe was going to do everything she could to stop Max from turning into the person she was in that alternate reality. Some things were inevitable. But Chloe had to at least try.

Chloe always had Max’s back. _Always._

Chloe woke up—she really couldn’t think of a better way to describe it—in Max’s bedroom. “Reflections of a Marionette”by Two Gallants was playing on the hi-fi. Max was sitting at her desk with her laptop open. The vague scent of weed hung in the air. It was pretty obvious what they’d been doing all night.

Chloe blinked away the dream-like haze. She had to assure herself—again–that this _wasn’t_ a dream. She felt like she should be damaged—emotionally or physically—from the strain of literally hopping through alternate realities. But Chloe felt perfectly fine. Her hair was still in place, her clothes were okay, her eyebrows weren’t singed or anything like that. Despite everything, she was still Chloe Price.

The only huge problem? Chloe couldn’t remember anything about last night. There was a pretty big gap in her memory. Probably related to the whole shifting realities and messing with time thing.

“Max?” said Chloe.

She stood up and walked over to Max. She touched Max’s shoulder to make sure she was real. Chloe was genuinely surprised—and relieved—when Max didn’t shatter or evaporate at her touch.

Max had that messy pixie cut Chloe had gotten used to, the new wardrobe that was so unlike anything Chloe would have expected Max to wear. Chloe had never noticed before, but Max was beautiful. Everything about her was totally gorgeous and perfect. How could one person be so amazing? How could one person care about an absolute piece of trash like her? Chloe felt like the luckiest girl in the entire universe.

This was her reality. This was how things were supposed to be. How had Chloe even fooled herself into believing that she could exist in any other timeline, in any other world? Not without Max. _Her_ Max.

“Down, girl,” said Max. “We can’t just fool around. We’re on the clock.”

Chloe wrapped Max in a bone-crushing hug from behind. She never wanted to let go. If Chloe could have used her rewind to just live in that hug forever, she totally would have. Who gave a crap about Rachel Amber or Arcadia Bay or alternate realities? The only person Chloe could make herself care about was sitting right there. And Chloe had zero good reasons to let go. Never again.

“You’re cute, but this is serious,” said Max.

Chloe reluctantly let go. She didn’t care if she was being way too aggressive with her affection. They were still kind of on eggshells after that kiss. And the argument in the truck hadn’t done them any favors.

“Sure thing, Mad Max,” said Chloe. “So what are we doing?”

Max twisted around in her chair, raising an eyebrow at Chloe.

“Uh, did you forget?” she said. “We went over all this last night. I’m trying to figure out Rachel’s connection with Nathan. Did you crack Frank’s account book?”

Chloe picked up her phone. There were a few new messages, but Chloe didn’t bother reading them. She wasn’t ready to talk to Mikey or Steph.

There were some crumpled pieces of paper on the nightstand. Chloe unfurled and skimmed them as she went through the photos of Frank’s account book. Chloe hadn’t gotten too far. She’d figured out that _Rottweiler_ was probably Nathan, but that was just a theory. It fit almost too perfectly. _Rottweiler. Rotten. Nathan Prescott._ But then again, Frank was an idiot.

Chloe squinted at her notes. She’d written down some specific times and dates. If she could match some of them up, maybe she could solidify her theory about Nathan being “Rottweiler” in Frank’s account book? She just needed to figure out when the drug deals had gone down and sync them with Vortex Club parties. It wasn’t rock solid evidence, but it was better than word games.

“Were you messing around with time while I was asleep?” said Max.

Chloe almost dropped her notes. She cleared her throat, crumpling up the notes and stuffing them into her pockets. Should she tell Max the truth? Or was that a dick move? Chloe didn’t want to get into another argument. But Max had a nose for bullshit. And Chloe didn’t want to fall into old patterns.

“Yeah,” said Chloe. “Kind of.”

She swallowed. Chloe had promised Max— _promised–_ that she would never lie to her again. And Chloe was sick of breaking promises and being a shitty friend to everyone. She didn’t get why people hung around her at this point. She couldn’t understand why Max liked her or why Steph and Mikey kept drawing her into their tabletop nerd world. And worst of all, Chloe didn’t understand what had drawn her to Nathan Prescott in that alternate reality.

Chloe grabbed a notebook and ripped a page out. She pulled out her marker and scrawled a wonky-looking circle on the page. The circle, she explained to Max, represented the reality they both lived in. She drew another circle to represent the alternate reality she had visited through the graffiti. And before Max could start asking tons of valid questions, Chloe drew a bunch of smaller circles branching out from the large ones. This was where things got super complicated and Chloe was thankful that she was a scientist. Each small circle represented a major decision Chloe had made, something that changed the course of her reality. There were so many branching paths. And they all led to the final thing Chloe drew: a squiggly line that represented the timeline Chloe and Max occupied, the only one Max was aware of.

“We exist in two or three different timelines,” Chloe said. “In this one, you’re alive. In the other one, Ryan Caulfield is alive. And in the third one, you’re dead.”

Was it weird that she kind of liked explaining this stuff? When she put it all together, it didn’t sound mystical. It sounded like science.

“So what’s the most important factor in all of these universes?” said Chloe. “Uh, _me._ Obviously. But I’m not the only one.”

She drew a little dot in the first universe and another one in the third universe.

“Nathan Prescott,” said Chloe. “In one universe, he corners you and almost shoots you in the bathroom. In another, he shoots and kills you. And in another one, the two of us are best buddies for some reason.”

She added another dot to the first and third universes. And then she added two to the second universe.

“Max, it’s all about Nathan,” said Chloe. “Nathan and me. It doesn’t make any fucking sense, but that storm has to be about us.”

She traced the first circle with her finger. Okay, now it was sounding mystical again. Destiny? Premonitions? Omens? Sounded like the set-up to a fantasy novel. And yet Chloe was discussing it like it was legitimate science. Whatever force or forces were at play here, there was some kind of weird agenda or logic to them. They could be studied.

“It’s the three of us,” she said. “We’re the only ones in Arcadia Bay who know about the storm.”

Max fell back into her desk chair. She had the dazed look of a sleepwalker, but Chloe could tell Max was fully awake. They were both more awake than they’d been for the past few hours.

“You saw my dad?” said Max.

The smile dropped off Chloe’s face. _Fuck._ She’d been so busy being all science-y that she forgot about that part. Out of everything else, that one part still sounded so unreal. More unreal than Chloe saving Max’s life in the bathroom.

“It wasn’t—it wasn’t my fault, okay?” said Chloe. “You were—you were _suffering,_ Max. What was I supposed to do? Just let you be sad and in pain and…?”

Max stared up at the ceiling, her arms dangling over the back of her desk chair.

“I get it,” said Max. “It was a shitty situation. I’m not pissed, Chloe. I’m just…”

She let out a frustrated sigh. Max leaned forward in her chair and bent her head.

“Why is any of this bullshit happening to us?” said Max.

Chloe carefully folded her little time diagram and put it on Max’s nightstand. Max had finally asked the question that had been clawing at Chloe’s mind since this all started. With science, there was always some kind of explanation or at least an overarching theory. There were building blocks. Chloe was like Marie Curie: fascinated, confused, and playing with fire.

“Strange attractors,” said Chloe. “Chaos theory. Who the fuck knows?”

She shrugged.

“Look, we’re probably never going to figure out why,” said Chloe. “But that doesn’t matter. You know what _does_ matter? Nathan Prescott knows shit.”

Max lifted her head and looked at Chloe.

“Why don’t you ask him?” said Max. “Aren’t you guys best friends forever?”

Chloe rolled her eyes.

“Good one, Mad Max,” said Chloe.

She picked up her bag from the floor. Max’s bag was lying right beside it. Chloe almost teared up when she saw the patches. She used to think the bag looked kind of tacky. It still was, but tacky in a very _Max_ way. Everything about this new Max was so, well, _Max._ Even her bold new look was one hundred percent pure unfiltered Max Caulfield.

“Time for some good old-fashioned B and E,” said Chloe.

For a second, Chloe felt bad about invading Nathan’s space like that. But then she remembered which Nathan she was dealing with. _Crap._ She kept getting them crossed in her head. That made sense. Every version of Nathan technically existed in the same reality. They overlapped each other because they were all different layers of the same mind. Chloe wondered how many layers she had to peel back before this reality’s Nathan became slightly tolerable.

“Do we have a plan?” said Max.

She jumped out of her chair and grabbed her own bag.

“Um, yeah?” said Chloe. “We _break_ and then we _enter._ How hard is that? Keep up, Maxine.”

Max followed Chloe out of her bedroom.

“Of course,” she said. “Lead the way, Captain Chloe.”

Chloe patted her pocket to make sure her phone was still there. This would have been a great time to call Mikey or Steph and ask them for a very dangerous favor. But Chloe wasn’t dragging either of them into this shit. That sounded like actual Hell.

“You, um, okay to see Samantha first?” said Chloe. “I sort of promised I’d visit.”

Max nodded, following Chloe downstairs and to the front door.

“Totally,” she said.

She reached out and rubbed Chloe’s arm. Max smiled, that genuine Max smile that Chloe loved so much. Chloe had really missed it.

“You’re a boss for saving your friend like that,” said Max. “She’s lucky to have you.”

Chloe didn’t know what to say, so she just smiled and touched Max’s hand. It was weird to hear someone tell her she was a good friend. Even Mikey had never said that to her face. But now that Chloe heard the words out loud? She kind of agreed.

* * *

Chloe wasn’t good with hospitals. They were just so creepy and sterile. The thought of Max being in one made Chloe’s skin crawl.

“You nervous?” said Max.

They were standing outside Samantha’s room.

Chloe took a deep breath. “Nervous” was kind of an understatement. More like “petrified”. What was she supposed to say to someone who almost jumped off a roof because of a viral video? “ _Glad you’re alive”?_ That sounded kind of insensitive, even if it was totally true. Should Chloe just steer clear of the whole thing? Or was that even worse? _Ugh._ Being friends with people was so hard.

“You want me to come in with you?” said Max.

Chloe nearly broke down from relief.

“Fuck yes,” she said. “You’re the best, Mad Max.”

They went in together. Chloe briefly worried about overwhelming Samantha, but she let the thought go. This was scarier than traveling to an alternate reality. At least Chloe knew the rules with her rewind. Being a decent friend to someone was uncharted territory.

Samantha was sitting up in bed with a book. She looked healthier. There were no bags under her eyes, her face was less pale. She’d clearly been eating and sleeping better.

She shut her book and looked up when the door closed. Samantha smiled nervously.

“You came,” she said. “I didn’t think you would.”

Chloe resisted the urge to just rush over and wrap Samantha in a hug. Chloe knew that if she did that, she would probably hold on until Max pried her off. It kept hitting Chloe over and over again: Samantha was alive. Samantha was alive. _Samantha was alive._ Alive because of Chloe. The second person Chloe had saved with her rewind. Hopefully she kept it up for the sake of everyone at Blackwell.

“I’m not _that_ much of a fuck-up,” said Chloe.

The room wasn’t empty. There were flowers and cards piled up on the nightstand. Half of Blackwell must have been sending their best wishes. Fucking hypocrites. As if any of them were there for Samantha when she actually needed help. Chloe wished she could track down everyone who’d shared that video. She wanted to give them several pieces of her mind.

“I guess not,” said Samantha.

She glanced at Max, her smile slipping.

“Whose this?” said Samantha.

Chloe started to answer, but the reply got caught in her throat. She was ready to say “My best friend Max” or something like that. But that didn’t entirely sound right. Sure, her and Max were still buds. But that kiss had kind of changed everything. On the other hand, Chloe wasn’t ready to use the G word. Not yet. Not until this was one hundred percent official. Maybe Max didn’t even want a label on it.

“Max,” Chloe said finally.

Samantha nodded, her nervous smile returning at full force.

“I-I was sort of hoping you guys were someone else,” she said.

She blushed.

“Sorry!” said Samantha. “I don’t know what I’m saying. Of course I’m glad you’re here. Um, take a seat. If you want.”

Chloe walked across the room and sank into one of the chairs. The chair was uncomfortable, but at least it was somewhere to rest her weary legs. Chloe wasn’t physically exhausted from anything she did in that alternate reality. Her brain was still catching up with that fact. Chloe wanted to feel more exhausted than she actually was.

“Has anyone else visited?” said Max.

She sat in the other chair and put her bag on the floor.

Samantha considered, chewing her lip.

“Um, Victoria was here,” said Samantha. “She was crying. Bawling her eyes out. I had to calm her down.”

Chloe tried to picture Victoria sobbing like a baby, but she couldn’t. Victoria always looked so cold and ruthless, like she was about to snap and bite someone’s head off. The idea that she might have been emotionally devastated by Samantha’s almost-suicide seemed so bizarre. Chloe expected to feel smug about it. But all she could feel was sympathy. The almighty Victoria Chase must have been completely wrecked by what happened. Even the most soulless girl at Blackwell had feelings.

Chloe got up from her chair and went over to the nightstand. She picked up the giant Get Well card and opened it. It was full of signatures. It looked like pretty much everyone at Blackwell—minus Nathan of course—had signed. They’d even roped Samuel the creepy janitor and Mark Jefferson into adding their names. Samantha’s heart must have swelled when she opened it. To be fair, it was pretty fucking nice to see so many people stepping up. Still hypocritical, but at least it made Samantha feel better.

Chloe whipped out her marker and added her name to the card, along with a little smiley face with sunglasses and a short message: _Screw the bullies._

Samantha looked at her lap.

“I was hoping Nathan would come, but I guess—I guess he doesn’t want to see me,” she said.

Chloe slipped the marker back into her pocket. And just when she thought she’d figured Samantha out, she was back to square one. Nathan? Samantha wanted to see _Nathan?_ The guy who might have drugged her? _What the fuck?_

“Seriously?” said Chloe. “Why would you want that freak anywhere near you?”

Samantha rubbed her hands together and shook her head.

“It’s fine,” she said. “I don’t expect you to get it. I know it doesn’t make any sense to you. You’re—you’re so much like him.”

Chloe almost physically recoiled. She imagined herself as a stuck-up prick with a rich dad living a zero-consequences life at Blackwell. She imagined waving a gun around and getting in literally no trouble for dealing drugs at school. But Chloe couldn’t actually see herself as the asshole who swaggered around like she owned the campus.

“What?” said Chloe.

Samantha smiled.

“You’re both so angry a lot of the time,” said Samantha. “But you care about your friends and you’d do anything for them.”

Max walked over to the bed.

“Samantha, what do you know about Nathan?” said Max. “What do you _really_ know?”

Samantha lifted her head, her brow furrowed in confusion at the abrupt topic change.

Max had swung the conversation around to something else because she didn’t want Chloe’s head to implode. They’d just finished processing the whole concept of alternate realities. Piling on philosophical questions was probably going to split Chloe’s brain in two. Super Max to the rescue.

“Nathan doesn’t tell me anything,” said Samantha. “If you want to know stuff, you should ask Victoria. She knows him way better than I do. I’m—I’m not sad about that or anything.”

She smiled at Max.

“And I’m actually glad you’re not Nathan,” Samantha said.

Chloe sighed.

“So am I,” she said.

She sank back into her chair. Chloe wanted to tell Samantha the whole story, including all the insane parts about time travel. Maybe knowing the full picture would give Samantha a better idea of just how big of a scumbag Nathan Prescott actually was. Chloe just didn’t understand this weird crush Samantha had on Nathan. Samantha obviously wasn’t after the cash, so why even want to hang around that freak? Did Samantha think she could “fix” him? Chloe almost laughed her ass off at the concept. It was going to take more than Samantha’s love to mend the tire fire of a mess that was Nathan Prescott.

But Chloe also understood Nathan a little better. And she didn’t know how to feel about him anymore. He’d shot Max in the bathroom. He threatened Chloe. No one would have argued with Chloe if she said Nathan was a bad guy. Even his Vortex bros had to have noticed Nathan was messed up. But the Nathan she’d met in that alternate reality hadn’t been the Nathan who shot a girl in a bathroom. He was normal. Kind of stressed, but who wasn’t? And Other Chloe had apparently been helping him self-medicate with shit he got from Frank because Nathan’s dad refused to get him the help he needed. _That_ was the Nathan Prescott worth saving. _That_ was the Nathan Prescott that Samantha should have been pining over.

“How are you feeling?” Chloe said.

She should have asked the moment they got there, but she’d had other stuff on her mind.

Samantha hugged herself.

“Cold,” said Samantha. “But _better,_ I think. Everyone has been so nice. I think—I think they all forgot about the video. And now they _see_ me.”

Chloe smiled. She didn’t have the heart to tell Samantha the truth. There was no way anyone had forgotten about that video. And everyone was being nice because they felt shitty and guilty about almost killing a girl over a dumb video. But at least Max and Chloe were there. Chloe had never given a crap about that video.

“Mr. Jefferson stopped by,” said Samantha.

She pointed at a bundle of flowers on the nightstand. The flowers were fake, but the gesture seemed real enough.

“He said Ms. Holt picked those out for me,” Samantha said. “He didn’t stay long. He just wanted to make sure I was okay.”

Chloe was impressed. Those were some badass flowers. Chloe had never seen a bouquet with monkshood flowers in it. Fake or not, Mark Jefferson had really gone all out. He’d even sent his own card to go with the flowers. Why couldn’t Principal Wells step up like that? Probably too busy talking himself up to the press and trying to protect Blackwell’s good name. Because of course their school’s reputation was way more important than the life of an innocent girl. Chloe wanted to vomit.

Victoria had sent a bouquet of plastic peonies. Chloe would have expected nothing less from a pretentious artist.

“So are you coming back to Blackwell or…?” Chloe said.

Samantha considered for a few seconds.

“I think so?” said Samantha. “My parents are freaked out, but I think I can talk them into letting me stay. I really don’t want to leave. I have friends.”

She traced shapes on her hand, smiling faintly.

“I’ve never had those before,” Samantha said. “But now I have you and Max and—and even Samuel really likes me I think. He gives me books to read. He has a lot of books about spirituality.”

She leaned forward excitedly.

“Did you know my spirit animal is a rabbit?” said Samantha.

She pointed at Max’s shirt.

“And yours is a doe,” she said.

She sounded proud of herself, like she’d unlocked a secret of the universe.

Max looked down at the doe on her shirt. It wasn’t anything special, or at least she was pretty sure it wasn’t.

“Me next,” Chloe said. “Tiger? Scorpion? Sperm whale?”

Samantha leaned back in bed and smiled sheepishly.

“I, uh, didn’t finish the book Samuel gave me,” said Samantha.

Chloe was weirdly disappointed. It wasn’t like she gave a crap about spirituality or Samuel. But she would have liked to know her spirit animal. She bet it was something awesome, like a lion or a giant squid. Something powerful that belonged on a shirt.

Max leaned forward in her seat, clasping her hands together.

“We’re going to get justice,” said Max. “We promise. For you _and_ for Rachel Amber.”

Samantha opened her book.

“Rachel was nice,” said Samantha. “She never said anything mean to me.”

Chloe almost laughed. _Holy shit._ That was such a crappy barrier for being nice. It said a lot about Blackwell that Samantha’s criteria for kindness was just not saying anything bad to her face. If only Chloe was so lax with giving out Decent Human Being awards.

Max pulled out her phone and checked the time.

“We should go,” said Max.

She picked up her bag. It wasn’t getting late, but they really needed to bail if they were going to hit the boys’ dormitory and string Nathan Prescott up by his nuts. They only had a limited window to get this stuff done.

Chloe waved at Samantha.

“Call me, okay?” said Chloe. “Text me. We’ll talk about whatever.”

Samantha promised to text Chloe in a few hours.

Chloe made a mental note to keep her phone on and make sure it was charged. Chloe didn’t trust herself to pull off that second one, but she was going to try her best. For Samantha.

As soon as they were out in the hallway, Max let out a long sigh.

“She seems nice,” said Max.

Chloe playfully bumped Max’s shoulder with her own.

“Paws off, Caulfield,” said Chloe. “Can’t have you crushing on straight girls.”

She winked.

“But you never know,” she added.

Max rolled her eyes, refusing to engage with whatever weird fantasy world Chloe was operating in. For what it was worth, Max thought a friendship with Samantha was worth developing. But she couldn’t say that out loud. It would have just egged Chloe on.

* * *

Chloe hoped Nathan wasn’t on campus. If she’d been in his shoes, she would have hopped into one of her rich dad’s expensive cars for a very long road trip. Stocked up on snacks, tattoos, strip clubs, weed, and of course copious amounts of porn mags. Unfortunately, Nathan didn’t seem like the road trip type. And Chloe was basically daydreaming at that point because she really needed to get away. Chloe couldn’t wait to blow this stupid town.

Mr. Jefferson was talking to Ms. Holt on the lawn outside the boys’ dormitory. Chloe couldn’t read lips—a skill she really should have acquired for her time at Blackwell—but she noticed that Ms. Holt looked unusually unhappy. Lovers’ quarrel? Maybe Ms. Holt had finally given up the heartache of heterosexuality and decided to have a gay old time. Chloe could dream.

“So that’s the future Mrs. Chloe Elizabeth Price?” said Max.

She was looking at Ms. Holt. Based on her expression, she seemed to like what she was seeing. But who wouldn’t? Ms. Holt was the very definition of a bombshell.

Chloe playfully swatted at Max’s shoulder, but it was no use. Her face was heating up and there was no way Max didn’t notice. Chloe one hundred percent blamed Ashley Holt for being every gay nerd girl’s wet dream.

“You’re so full of shit,” said Chloe.

Mr. Jefferson nodded at Ms. Holt and walked away without saying anything.

Chloe had never seen Ms. Holt look so upset. Ms. Holt was just standing there and holding herself, her eyes full of sadness. She looked small and defeated, like she’d just lost the greatest battle in history. Whatever Mr. Jefferson had said to her, it must have wrung her emotions dry. Trouble in paradise.

Chloe grabbed Max’s arm and grinned.

“Here comes your boyfriend,” she said.

Max rolled her eyes and shoved Chloe away.

“Gross,” said Max.

But Mr. Jefferson actually was coming their way. He didn’t seem to notice them at first, but a grin broke out on his face when he saw them standing there. Max was the worst at playing it cool. When she saw him coming, she practically went into turtle mode.

“I take it you’re feeling better?” said Mr. Jefferson.

Chloe laughed.

“I don’t know about you, but _I_ feel like total shit,” said Chloe. “Its been an insane few days.”

Mr. Jefferson crossed his arms and nodded. Some people were just born to be teachers. Mr. Jefferson hadn’t been doing the whole teaching thing very long, but he’d really nailed the look. Chloe had to restrain herself from promising she’d finished all of her homework.

“We’re all so proud of you,” said Mr. Jefferson.

Chloe dragged a hand through her hair and laughed again. People kept saying crap like that. Saying she was a hero and a “wonderful example of the Blackwell spirit”, whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean. It was all gibberish to her. Just words people used to deflect blame and ignore the actual situation.

“Proud or relieved?” said Chloe. “I mean, “ _Girl Mocked into Suicide at Blackwell Academy”?_ Not a good look for Arcadia Bay’s most prestigious hellhole. I’m sure Principal Wells has been doing damage control.”

Mr. Jefferson chuckled. He didn’t seem offended by Chloe’s attack on Blackwell politics. Chloe wondered why someone so cool was teaching at Blackwell. Jefferson could have nabbed a spot at pretty much any art academy in Oregon. So why here? Why Arcadia Bay?

“Do you really think so little of everyone?” said Mr. Jefferson. “Aren’t you a little young to be so cynical?”

Chloe spread her palms and grinned.

“My cynicism is what makes me special,” she said. “One hundred percent authentic Chloe Price.”

Mr. Jefferson patted his own chest.

“Well, _I’m_ glad you talked Samantha down,” he said. “And off the record? I think this whole thing is bullshit. You stepped up and said your truth. That’s what makes you an adult and that’s what makes you an artist.”

Chloe held up both hands.

“I’m a scientist, not an artist,” she said.

She patted Max’s shoulder.

“Max is the artist,” said Chloe. “A photographer.”

Mr. Jefferson turned his attention to Max. Max looked like she wanted to dissolve into a happy little puddle under Mr. Jefferson’s warm smile.

Chloe glanced from Max to Mr. Jefferson, the biggest grin on her face. _Holy shit._ She knew Max had a crush, but this was all kinds of unreal. Max had it _bad._ Did Max even realize how fucking obvious she was being about it?

“A photographer, huh?” said Jefferson. “I’d love to see your work sometime.”

Max grabbed the strap of her bag. She seemed to be having trouble making eye contact. She pretended not to notice Chloe holding back laughter. She really wanted to jam her elbow into Chloe’s ribs.

“Uh, yeah,” said Max. “Maybe—maybe next time I’m here.”

Mr. Jefferson snapped his fingers and pointed at Max.

“Let me guess,” said Mr. Jefferson. “Too creative for Blackwell?”

Max touched her hair and laughed nervously.

“I guess so,” she said.

Chloe wrapped her arm around Max’s shoulder, causing Max to jump. As much as she would have loved watching Max squirm and stutter around Mr. Jefferson, it was starting to get old. And Chloe was starting to get just a tiny bit jealous.

“We’ve gotta bounce,” said Chloe.

Mr. Jefferson nodded at them.

“See you at the Vortex Club party tonight?” he said. “I’ll be announcing the winner of the Everyday Heroes’ contest.”

Normally Chloe would have rather puked out her own guts than attend a Vortex Club party. But what was the harm in saying she’d be there? Maybe her and Max could swing by after they finished busting Nathan. The party to end all parties. The end of the Vortex Club.

“Totally,” said Chloe. “I’m sure Max is dying to dance with you.”

Max tried to jab her elbow into Chloe’s ribs, but the angle was off.

Laughing, Mr. Jefferson walked away. He turned a corner and disappeared into the wider campus area.

A few seconds later, Ms. Holt followed him. Chloe couldn’t tell if they were going to the same place or not. But Ms. Holt didn’t seem to notice Chloe standing there. Ms. Holt was still holding herself, walking with the determination of a woman who was about to get super pissed about something.

Chloe grinned at Max.

“It’s cool if you want to kiss Mr. Jefferson,” said Chloe. “But I think he likes me a little better.”

Max rolled her eyes.

Chloe held up both hands like she was surrendering.

“Okay, okay,” she said. “You can have him. Good thing I’m gay, right? Otherwise I might take a shot at Mr. Fancy Camera just to mess with you.”

Max tried to swat at Chloe’s shoulder again, but Chloe danced out of the way. Chloe didn’t need her rewind to see that one coming.

“Like you weren’t totally flirting with him too,” said Max.

Chloe shrugged.

“Only because you’re so fucking cute when you get flustered,” said Chloe. “Maybe I should flirt with Jefferson more often if that’s what gets you going.”

She looped arms with Max and pulled her close. She was relieved when Max didn’t try to pull away. Chloe was worried that she might have gone too far. But she really couldn’t help herself. Max was such an adorable dork.

“And if it matters, back when I thought I was straight, Mr. Jefferson was my type,” said Chloe. “Turns out I like girls better. Lucky me I guess. And lucky you.”

Max smiled.

“Okay, but promise me you won’t fuck Ms. Holt just to make me jealous,” she said.

Chloe pretended to think about it.

“You’re so _demanding,_ Mad Max,” said Chloe. “But I guess I could try. No promises.”

Holding each other like they thought the other might let go, they walked into the boys’ dormitory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At some point, I'd like to write an entire story centered around Nathan, Chloe, Rachel, and Max being friends. I think that would be an interesting dynamic to explore for an alternate reality.


	3. The Barn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap. This is the longest chapter I've ever written. 
> 
> There's an excellent video on YouTube that delves into some of the game's unused content and the possibility of a third ending that got scrapped during game production. It's really a shame that so much of the original game's story had to be cut out or edited down due to budget, time constraints, etc. 
> 
> For anyone curious, the video is titled "The Ending We Never Got - Life is Strange Theory". Highly recommended.

The first thing Chloe noticed was that someone had drawn penises all over the notice board. There was crude graffiti everywhere. Mostly stuff like _“VC_ _loves dick_ _”_ and _“Rachel Amber_ _owes me_ _a BJ”._ And Chloe thought _she_ was the graffiti queen of Blackwell. She really needed to step up her game.

Chloe knelt down with her marker and wrote _“So_ _does your mom_ _”_ under the _“Rachel Amber_ _o_ _wes me a BJ”_ graffiti. It was far from her best comeback. In Chloe’s defense, it was a rush job. If she wasted time replying to every bit of graffiti in the dorm, she was going to be there for hours.

Max tapped Chloe’s shoulder.

“We have to find Nathan’s room,” said Max.

Chloe stood up and slipped the marker back into her pocket. _Oh. Right._ Chloe totally forgot that she wasn’t a normal eighteen-year-old goofing off at a fancy school. A superhero’s job was never done.

She checked the dorm map. There were dicks and Bigfoots drawn everywhere, but at least she could read the room numbers. Nathan was at the very end of the hall. Chloe felt bad for whoever lived across from him.

The two of them walked to the end of the hallway and stood in front of Nathan’s door. Chloe wanted to read all the graffiti, but Max kept a firm grip on her arm as they walked. This was the exact opposite of a distraction-free zone. Chloe felt like every single wall she passed was begging for that signature Chloe Price touch.

Max knocked on the door before they went in.

Chloe braced herself. She was ready to rewind if Nathan was actually in there.

When no one answered, Max tried the door. She grunted and pulled on the handle, but it didn’t budge. Locked. Of course. Nathan wasn’t dumb enough to leave his door unlocked. Everyone at Blackwell was hiding shit. Nathan Prescott probably had more to hide than anyone else.

Chloe grabbed a fire extinguisher and bashed the door handle. She expected Max to grab her arms and try to stop her. But Max just stood there and watched without saying anything. Chloe could tell Max wasn’t happy with any of this. This felt way more illegal than it should have.

Chloe always said she would make an awesome criminal. Brains, brawn, _and_ style? Triple threat. Unfortunately, Chloe was starting to think that a life of crime wasn’t as cool and badass as it sounded. It was way too much work. Chloe needed a new back-up plan for when she got kicked out of Blackwell. But then again, who needed plans? Chloe had The Power. She could literally do anything she wanted.

Gripping the fire extinguisher, Chloe grinned. _Holy shit._ She really _could_ do anything she wanted, right? Money, weed, fame. Anything she wanted, it was right on the tip of her fingers. After they blew this town, her and Max were going to be rich.

“Rewind time,” said Chloe.

She went into Nathan’s room, shutting the door behind her. Chloe hit her instant replay, undoing the damage to Nathan’s door. Then it was a simple matter of unlocking the door from the inside and letting Max in. Chloe felt like she was getting the hang of all this B and E.

Max stepped into the room and shut the door behind her.

“Gotta go fast,” said Max. “If Nathan catches us….”

Chloe didn’t even want to think about that. She was already scanning the room for anything they could use. _Anything._ But she was kind of caught off guard by all the weird stuff in the room. Her first real glimpse into the dark twisted mind of Nathan Prescott.

There were creepy BDSM illustrations all over the walls, a projector, and some posters from a few shows Chloe recognized. The bookcase was lined with DVDs. Movies Chloe knew about, but hadn’t seen: _American Psycho, The Blair Witch Project,_ and some foreign titles. Apparently Nathan Prescott had a thing for French films. Chloe would have found that super interesting if she hadn’t been internally freaking out over all the creepy stuff in Nathan’s room.

Max knelt down and reached under Nathan’s bed. That seemed like the obvious place to hide stuff. But all she found was a bunch of porno magazines that Nathan had stashed under his bed. Nothing unusual. Max could have fooled herself into thinking Nathan was a normal teenager who did normal teenager stuff. If only his room wasn’t straight out of a horror movie.

“What the _fuck?”_ said Chloe.

She’d flipped open a photo album on the nightstand. Chloe had never seen any of Nathan’s photos before. She wasn’t in the inner circle. This was a rare glimpse into the mind of a tortured artist.

It was all dead animals, graveyards, foggy nights. All shot in black and white. Nathan definitely had a theme going on. He was really leaning into the whole edgy artist thing. Chloe would have accused him of trying too hard, but she knew Nathan wasn’t bullshitting the world. Art speaks truth.

Nathan had an old diploma on his wall. Chloe got a little closer and realized it was fake. It said something about Nathan being “the best son ever”. A gift from Sean Prescott. It was weird how Nathan had kept something like that. Not that Chloe didn’t have weird mementos from her childhood all over her bedroom at home. Chloe still had that snow globe her dad bought her about five years ago. The one with the snowy mountain and the doe. It reminded her of a time before William got that promotion, back when he spent a lot more time with his family. Was that what Nathan thought about every time he looked at that diploma?

Nathan’s dad being an asshole kind of explained why Nathan was acting so weird. The guy was self-medicating himself into oblivion with god-knows-what. Chloe was shocked Nathan hadn’t already snapped.

Chloe frowned. Was she actually feeling _sorry_ for Nathan Prescott? Did she forget how he had literally _shot her best friend?_ But then Chloe thought about how normal and okay he seemed in the alternate reality and what Samantha had said. And she considered the fake diploma Nathan had pinned to his wall. It was really difficult not to think of Nathan as a real human being with real human feelings, even if he was a total psycho.

Max was snooping on Nathan’s computer. While Chloe looked around, Max read some of Nathan’s e-mails out loud.

Most of the e-mails were pretty standard. Nathan and Victoria talking about the Vortex Club party, Principal Wells kissing Nathan’s ass, etc. And one super long—and super pissed off—e-mail from Nathan’s dad in which Sean Prescott basically threatened to disown his son for “embarrassing him”. That last one made Chloe flinch. _Holy crap._ Chloe couldn’t imagine William being angry enough to send an e-mail like that to her, even if she totally fucked up. What was Sean’s problem with his son? And why was Nathan so into this party? Yeah, Vortex Club parties were supposed to be legendary, but this seemed a little too over the top even for Nathan. Based on that e-mail, Nathan was acting like this was the most important party ever. Like this was the last time he was ever going to party with the Vortex. _Weird._

“What’s that?” said Chloe.

She was pointing at the floor. She’d spotted some marks. It looked like someone—Nathan?–had been dragging something across the floor. If Chloe had to guess, probably that fancy couch he had shoved against the wall. Nathan really sucked at covering his tracks. But then again, he was a spoiled teenage brat at an expensive school, not a criminal genius.

Chloe and Max moved the couch together. It wasn’t heavy, but Chloe appreciated the help. She also appreciated not having to hear Max summarize more of Nathan’s e-mails. Nathan’s inbox was surprisingly depressing _and_ boring.

A plastic bag was taped to the back of the couch. There was a disposable phone inside.

Chloe grabbed the bag. This was probably the most incriminating thing she’d seen so far. Why would a teenager need a burner phone? And why was Nathan so fucking paranoid? What did this have to do with Rachel?

She slipped it into her bag. Nathan was going to throw a tantrum when he found his phone missing—if he even noticed—but Chloe didn’t give a shit. Nathan wasn’t going to find out it was them. If he went to the principal, Chloe would just pretend she didn’t know what he was talking about. She hung out around the boys’ dorm all the time. Nathan couldn’t pin anything on her.

“Let’s bail,” said Chloe.

She helped Max move the couch back.

They made sure to close the door on their way out.

Chloe was worried about Nathan’s paranoia. Nathan was pretty scary when he _wasn’t_ armed and dangerous. Adding a gun to the mix seemed like a recipe for really bad news. But Chloe had zero control over what Nathan did. She just had to hope he didn’t connect the dots.

Chloe sighed in relief. They actually got away with it. _Holy shit._ She couldn’t have done it without Max. Max was the one not-insane thing in her life. Once this was all over, Chloe was totally popping the question. Chloe could already hear Ryan Caulfield screaming from his grave and David throwing a fit. No fucks given. They could elope. They could go somewhere far away from Arcadia. There was nothing keeping either of them in this crappy town.

Chloe was picturing Max in a suit. The image had just solidified in her brain when the dormitory doors opened and Nathan Prescott stepped into the hallway.

Chloe’s smile dropped. _Fuck._ Why did Nathan Prescott have to ruin everything?

Nathan narrowed his eyes at them.

“What are you two doing here?” he said.

Chloe answered before Max could say anything. She was feeling unusually heated. Probably because they were _so close._ But nothing could ever be easy, right? Some asshole had to show up and ruin their good time.

“Get lost, dickhole,” said Chloe. “This isn’t about you.”

She shifted the weight of her bag. It was two against one. Chloe was ready to rush Nathan down if she had to. She wanted to plow right into him like a linebacker and knock that stupid look off his face.

Nathan was blocking the door. He was less twitchy than he’d been at the diner, but also nowhere near as calm as he’d been in the alternate reality.

“You’re so fucking nosy,” said Nathan. “Why don’t you mind your own business?”

Chloe spread her arms.

“Dude, we’re _trying,”_ she said. “Can you just get out of my face? Please?”

But Nathan didn’t move. Chloe was starting to worry that she might actually have to shove past him and bolt for the door.

Max raised her hands.

“Nathan, we’re not trying to get up in your shit,” she said. “I promise. We—we’re just worried.”

Strangely enough, Chloe didn’t entirely disagree with that. She _was_ worried. Worried about Nathan, as bizarre as that sounded in her head. Thinking about his room gave Chloe this awful deep pit in her stomach. It was like Chloe was watching a bunch of alternate realities overlap and she had to keep track of which one she was in.

“Worry about yourself,” said Nathan.

Max stepped forward. A tiny little step. She was closer to Nathan now, but not close enough for her to feel like she was in danger.

“You saw something, didn’t you?” said Max. “You saw something you shouldn’t have.”

Nathan’s entire face changed. It was like Max had scrubbed something away. He still looked furious and bratty, but there was something under that. Some mix of emotions that Max and Chloe couldn’t really decode.

Nathan took a few rapid steps in Max’s direction.

“I told you to leave me the fuck alone,” he said.

Chloe put herself between Max and Nathan.

“Back off, man,” Chloe said.

Nathan actually stopped. He was shaking. Chloe couldn’t tell if it was from anger or fear. Or maybe all the drugs Nathan was pumping into his body. Probably a combination of all three.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It doesn’t matter. You’re all _fucked._ It’s coming.”

Max stepped out from behind Chloe.

“What are you talking about?” said Max. “Nathan, what the hell is going on?”

Nathan shot Max an enraged look, like he was blaming her for something. He didn’t reply to her question.

Chloe took a step back.

“This isn’t about us,” said Chloe. “This is bigger than whatever you have against me.”

Nathan snorted.

“I don’t owe you shit,” said Nathan.

Chloe sighed. Nathan was right. He didn’t owe them anything. And Chloe wasn’t in the business of striking deals with Prescotts. That seemed like a good way to end up dead in a ditch. But letting Nathan get away without telling them what he knew was _also_ a good way for all of them to end up dead in a ditch. Should she try to press and risk having to rewind if Nathan freaked out on them? Or did she let it go?

What made the difference in that alternate reality? Why was Other Nathan such a good or at least semi-decent guy, completely different from the Nathan who waved guns around and stroked his ego every five seconds? There had to be something there. _Anything._ Something that would have made Nathan Prescott worth Chloe’s friendship.

“ _Stop_ bullshitting us,” said Chloe. “Can you please just _stop?_ For one fucking second?”

She waved her arms around.

“Because for _some reason,_ we’re the only people in Arcadia Bay with more than two brain cells,” said Chloe. “We’re the only ones who see all the bad shit going down. Arcadia Bay is trying to tell us something. I have no idea what that something _is,_ but it has to be important.”

She pointed at Nathan.

“You _know,”_ said Chloe. “You know something big is happening. So why don’t you just tell us so we can help you?”

Nathan threw back his head and laughed.

“Help _me?”_ he said. “Help yourself, bitch.”

Chloe’s heart sank. _Crap._ She really thought she’d cracked it. But once again the secrets of the universe slipped through her fingers. That brief glimpse of Other Nathan had tricked her into thinking she could reason with him. But Prescotts were beyond reason.

“Get the fuck out of my face,” Nathan said.

He tried to shove past Chloe, but she pushed him away. Was it just her imagination or did Nathan sound kind of, well, freaked out? He was pale and his voice was higher than normal, like he was having a meltdown. Sure, Nathan Prescott was _always_ having a meltdown. But this felt different. This felt like genuine fear. And it scared Chloe more than if he’d started screaming at them.

Nathan’s eyes flashed with rage like he was a cornered animal.

“You two are _so_ fucking dead,” he said.

Chloe took a step back. She was ready to hit her rewind and get the hell out of the dorm.

The three of them were distracted by the dormitory doors slamming open. They froze as someone marched into the hallway. Chloe expected it to be David. Showing up late to the party as usual. Chloe was _not_ looking forward to another Pornstache vs. Price beat-down. She barely grabbed a victory the last time.

But it wasn’t David, although Chloe would have taken anyone over Blackwell’s resident paranoid security guard. Well, almost anyone. As is turned out, there was one guy Chloe liked even less than David Madsen.

Damon Merrick walked into the hallway. Chloe had no idea how a guy in his forties with a neck tattoo and eyes like a guard dog managed to get on campus. Out of all the bizarre crap that had gone down this week, this was probably in the Top Ten. But Chloe was less concerned with _how_ and more concerned with _why._

Damon narrowed his eyes at the three of them, a look of surprise flashing across his face. He clearly hadn’t expected Chloe and Max to be there.

“Didn’t think I’d see you two again so soon,” said Damon.

He took a step towards Max.

Max clutched the strap of her bag and backed away, chewing on her lip and refusing to make direct eye contact with Damon. Chloe couldn’t blame her. Looking directly at Damon Merrick was like staring down an angry dog. Except unlike an angry dog, Damon wasn’t going to be distracted by a Scooby snack.

Damon turned his attention to Nathan. Nathan was trying to look all badass and intimidating, but none of them were fooled. Nathan was almost pissing his pants in fear under Damon’s stare. No amount of Prescott fortune was going to protect Nathan from whatever Damon had up his sleeve. That was the expression of someone who’d realized they were royally screwed.

“You avoiding me, Nathan?” said Damon.

Nathan dropped his gaze. Apparently Max wasn’t the only one who couldn’t look directly into Damon’s eyes. That made three of them.

“No,” Nathan said.

Damon took a big step towards Nathan. Nathan didn’t flinch or back away, but Chloe noticed his shoulders tense when Damon got closer. Damon reeked of cigarettes, booze, and weed. Clearly a party guy in his spare time.

“What, you too chicken-shit to look me in the eye?” said Damon. “I thought Prescotts were tough.”

He grinned, baring his teeth like a wolf about to tear into a steak. This guy could have sliced Nathan’s Achilles tendon without flinching. Chloe was willing to bet he had at least one confirmed kill on his record. No wonder this scumbag was best buds with Arcadia Bay’s finest assholes.

Nathan reluctantly met Damon’s gaze. Chloe had read somewhere that looking directly into a predator’s eyes were always a recipe for trouble. It was basically an invitation to get your throat ripped out. As much as Chloe wanted to see Nathan literally shit himself, she really wasn’t into any of this. If anyone should have been scaring the crap out of Nathan Prescott, it should have been Chloe.

“You haven’t been taking my calls,” said Damon.

Nathan swallowed.

“I-I’ve been busy,” he said. “School.”

Damon grabbed Nathan’s shoulder. Nathan froze like a deer in headlights, his eyes locked on Damon’s gaze like he was hypnotized. He was trying way too hard to act like he was stronger and tougher than he actually was, like he wasn’t some dumb spoiled rich kid from Blackwell. But Damon saw through all of that.

“Don’t lie to me, kid,” said Damon.

For once in his life, Nathan was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Of course the prick wasn’t used to getting threatened. Definitely not by human garbage like Damon Merrick. But in true Prescott fashion, the guy had bitten off more than he could swallow.

Damon squeezed Nathan’s shoulder. It was a possessive grip, like he expected Nathan to bolt if he let go.

“Where’s my fucking money?” said Damon.

Nathan finally found whatever reckless stupidity had been driving the Prescotts for centuries.

“I’ll get it,” said Nathan. “Prescotts don’t break their promises. Unlike you, we have integrity.”

Damon took a step away from Nathan, but he wasn’t backing off. He laughed at Nathan’s weak blow, cracking his knuckles and grinning.

“You’ve got some serious balls, kid,” said Damon. “You wanna talk about integrity? _You?_ I could tell you stories about your old man.”

He glanced at Max and Chloe. Neither of them had moved. Too scared that Damon would remember they were there.

“You kids are so fucking spoiled,” said Damon. “You think you can do anything. Mess with anyone. Well, you know what?”

He pointed at the front doors.

“Out there?” said Damon. “You’re just a bunch of pathetic little shits. You think you can steal from me? You think you’re better than me just because Mommy and Daddy are paying for you to take pretty pictures?”

He reached forward and grabbed Nathan by the front of his shirt.

Chloe watched, her heart pounding out of her chest. She’d always wanted to see Nathan Prescott get his ass kicked. But not like this. _Not like this._ All the joy she thought she’d feel? It just wasn’t there. Chloe could hardly feel anything through her terror. The only thing keeping her grounded was Max standing beside her.

This was totally wrong. Superheroes were supposed to fight supervillians, right? But Damon didn’t have a bunch of high-powered gadgets or an army of flying monkeys. He was just some skeevy drug dealer from Arcadia Bay. _Yeah, Price. A skeevy drug dealer with a fucking butterfly knife and a gun._

Damon shoved Nathan towards the wall. Hard enough for Nathan to stumble backwards and fall over. Before Nathan could retaliate, Damon rammed his foot into Nathan’s chest. Chloe flinched at the noise it made. That sounded like broken bones. But Damon didn’t stop. He kept kicking Nathan, even as Nathan curled up on the floor and started whimpering. Damon didn’t look like he was enjoying himself, but he also didn’t look like he regretted any of this. He was probably so used to giving beatings that it didn’t even spark an emotion anymore.

Nathan tried to fish the gun out, but Damon knocked it out of his hand. Damon kept kicking, moving from Nathan’s legs to his torso. Battering any exposed or semi-exposed part of Nathan’s body. Despite Nathan’s desperate efforts, he couldn’t cover all of himself. He just had to lie there curled up in a fetal position, protecting his face as Damon dished out physical punishment. Nathan whimpered and shook, pleading for Damon to stop. Damon either didn’t hear or didn’t care.

Chloe swallowed. _Okay, Price. Choice time._ Did she stand there and let Nathan get his ass kicked? Or did she do something? Chloe wasn’t even sure what she _could_ do, but it felt wrong to just stand there and watch Nathan get the shit kicked out of him. Yeah, the prick totally deserved it. He was a dumbass spoiled brat who only started giving a crap when karma bit him in the ass. Why should Chloe care? Why should she give a single solitary crap about Nathan Prescott?

Chloe sighed in frustration. But if she stood there and did nothing, didn’t that make her just as bad as Nathan? Maybe not in the grand scheme of things. But what would Max have said? Something about how they needed to be better? _Yeah._ And Max was standing right there, clutching Chloe’s arm and shaking.

“Hey, leave him alone,” said Chloe.

Without thinking, she darted forward and grabbed the gun Damon had kicked away from Nathan. She raised it and pointed it at Damon, her hands shaking uncontrollably.

Damon backed away from Nathan and turned, raising his eyebrows at Chloe. They were both thinking the same thing: the last time Chloe held a gun on Damon, she was too chicken-shit to actually take the shot.

Damon rolled his eyes.

“Again with this shit?” he said. “Are you really this stupid? Go ahead, little girl. Shoot me.”

He spread his arms, inviting her to take the shot.

And for a minute, Chloe actually thought about it. She _could_ shoot Damon. She could shoot him and rewind. Chloe could kill Damon Merrick and act like it never happened. One less creep in Arcadia Bay. No one was going to miss this asshole. No family, no friends. No one gave a shit about Damon Merrick. And even if someone did, why should Chloe even care? Arcadia Bay was getting destroyed at the end of the week. Damon was probably going to die anyway. And if he wasn’t, Chloe would be doing the whole world a favor by offing this guy.

Chloe’s hands were shaking so badly that she nearly dropped the gun. _Do it, Price. Just do it._

Damon laughed. He was backing away from the three of them and towards the doors.

“Its been fun, kids,” he said.

Damon pointed at Nathan.

“You have two days, Prescott,” he said. “Get my fucking money.”

Nathan had lowered his hands. His face was bruised and swollen, one arm wrapped around his chest. He was mumbling “sorry” over and over again. Chloe couldn’t tell if Nathan heard anything Damon said.

Damon left the dorm. Chloe wasn’t sure—and didn’t care—how he was going to get off campus without being spotted. Not that it mattered. No one was dumb enough to approach the scary guy with the neck tattoo. Except maybe David. Chloe normally would have paid to see that showdown, but she was praying that David and Damon didn’t cross paths. That was _not_ going to be pretty.

Chloe stuffed the gun into her bag. There was no way she was giving that thing back to Nathan. If Nathan really needed to be armed, he could find another one.

“Let’s go,” said Chloe.

She grabbed Max by the arm and dragged her out of the dormitory. Chloe couldn’t—and didn’t want to—know if Nathan was okay. She had to worry about herself. Herself and Max.

Nathan was still lying on the floor when Chloe and Max left. He didn’t seem to notice them leaving.

* * *

They hopped into Max’s truck and drove to Max’s house.

Chloe reclined in her seat and shut her eyes. It had been such a long day. Longer for her. She’d literally experienced the same day in two realities. It was weird how she could remember all of it, like it was an actual linear timeline. That was how Chloe knew she was herself and not some alternate version. Same day, same Chloe. Just jumping around alternate realities like it was no big deal.

“That was scary,” said Max.

Chloe almost laughed. _Scary?_ Huge fucking understatement. Chloe had nearly peed herself. _Twice. Holy crap._ That was worse than a thousand encounters with Nathan Prescott. And way worse than anything she signed up for. The way things were ramping up, Chloe legitimately wondered if the storm was actually their main problem. Damon Merrick probably had more firepower than some dumb tornado.

“Why would Rachel have anything to do with that prick?” said Chloe.

Max shrugged. She was still shaking, but she had her eyes on the road. Blocking out all the unhappy thoughts. Or at least trying to. Neither of them had ever been very good at that.

“Rachel could get along with anyone,” said Max.

She shuddered.

“She was definitely running drugs for Damon,” said Max. “ _God,_ Chloe. What the hell is going on?”

Chloe didn’t answer. So Damon was connected to Rachel too? _Holy crap._ Was there no one in this town who wasn’t involved with or banging Rachel Amber? And now Chloe had a super obvious theory about what happened to Rachel. If this was how Damon treated his drug mules, Chloe could only imagine what he might have done to Rachel Amber.

She flexed her fingers. Chloe still had the gun, even though she knew Max wanted her to dump it somewhere. And honestly? Chloe was considering it. She didn’t even _need_ a gun. She had more power than an army.

Chloe closed her fist. _Back up, Price. Just think for a second._ Chloe actually thought about _shooting_ Damon Merrick. Sure, he was complete scum and he totally deserved a bullet between the eyes. But Chloe couldn’t do that. And thinking about how calm she was about it, how she was ready to end Damon’s life….. Not just once, but twice. It scared her.

Max rubbed Chloe’s shoulder.

“You did the right thing,” she said. “We have to be better than Nathan.”

Chloe nodded, but she wasn’t sure. She just kept thinking about how that gun felt in her hand and how badly she’d wanted to use it in that moment.

They arrived at Max’s house and went up to Max’s bedroom. Fortunately, David and Vanessa weren’t home. Chloe and Max had the house all to themselves for sleuthing. The Caulfield and Price Detective Agency was open for business.

Chloe held up the bagged phone and shook it. Whatever was going on, the Prescotts were up to their armpits in it.

Chloe pulled the disposable phone out of the bag. Disposable or not, that phone looked crazy expensive. Only the best for Nathan Prescott. Chloe could already tell that it was protected by a passcode. Nathan wasn’t stupid enough to leave stuff like that unsecured, even if he’d been planning to toss it.

Chloe weighed her options. She could try every possible combination, but that would take—by her own estimate—six thousand years. Chloe’s brain would turn to mush long before she actually figured out the code. Her rewind might have been infinite, but Chloe’s brain definitely wasn’t.

She pulled out her phone and scrolled through the photos she took of Nathan’s file. Tons of possible combinations there. It was better than trying out every code in existence, but it was still going to take what felt like a hundred years.

Max disappeared downstairs. She came back a few minutes later, a guilty look on her face and her phone in her hands.

“I, uh, checked out David’s garage files,” Max said.

Chloe looked up from the phone, a huge grin on her face. She held up her hand, coaxing Max into a reluctant high five.

“Oh shit,” said Chloe. “Super Max strikes again! Did you find anything good? Anything we can use?”

Max fell into her desk chair. Wordlessly, she handed Chloe her phone. After all the breaking and entering they’d done, stuff like this really shouldn’t have bothered Max. It wasn’t like she’d pried the locker open with a crowbar or anything like that. She knew the code. And she was smart enough to leave everything there. But Max still felt dirty. David trusted her.

Chloe scrolled through the photos Max took. The deeper she went, the more her smile drooped. _Holy crap._ She knew David was paranoid, but _shit._ Some of this stuff was next level. David hadn’t just been harassing Samantha. He’d been _following_ her. He had a copy of her class schedule and everything.

The Samantha stuff wasn’t interesting, so Chloe skipped past a lot of it. She was more interested in the coordinates. David had been tracking two people. Chloe didn’t recognize either of the license plates. But there were photos of the cars he’d been tracking. First one belonged to Nathan. The second one was a car Chloe had never seen before, but she felt like she should have known who it belonged to.

Chloe’s heart almost jumped out of her chest when she saw her own file. It was just a photo, but the fact that a physical file existed almost made her sick. David had totally been stalking her. He had her class schedule, all of her online aliases, and records of some stuff she’d posted on social media. There were _photos._ Actual candid photos of her that he’d snapped without her noticing. David had listed Steph and Mikey as “possible acquaintances”. He’d also written _Nathan?_ in red marker over a photo of Chloe talking to someone on her phone outside the girls’ dormitory. Did David think Chloe and Nathan were conspiring with each other?

Chloe had never been more scared in her life. It grossed her out that some guy with guns and a savior complex had been following her for weeks. This went so far beyond David having a problem with her.

“What the fuck?” Chloe whispered.

She tossed Max’s phone onto the bed. She was so thrown off balance that she almost forgot about the disposable phone she was supposed to be cracking.

Max hopped out of her desk chair and grabbed the phone from the bed. She held it to her chest like it was precious cargo. Neither of them said anything about David being a total creep. There was nothing they could have said. Max felt like she should apologize, but this wasn’t on her. Maybe she was actually starting to question the trust David had put in her and if it was worth breaking.

“We need that phone,” said Max.

Chloe instantly snapped out of it. If she’d had any doubts before, they were gone. David was involved in this shit. He had to be. He was probably getting paid under the table or something by Sean Prescott.

Chloe picked up the disposable phone. Unsurprisingly, it unlocked on the first code she tried: Nathan’s birthday. _Of course_ it was his birthday.

She could feel her blood pumping. If they got anything even slightly incriminating off of this phone—and how could they not?–it was all worth it. This might be their key to finally finding Rachel Amber.

No photos. Chloe checked to make sure Nathan hadn’t been following her like David. But the photo reel was totally empty. That made sense. Who took pictures with a disposable phone? There were no contacts, no saved numbers. Nathan must have been using it to communicate with one person.

She checked the messages. Apparently Nathan had been texting back and forth with Frank for a while. Normal drug dealer stuff. Nathan wanted to know if Frank had what he needed, Frank said he did if Nathan had the cash. Rinse and repeat. If this was just drug dealer drama, Chloe was going to throw something.

Eventually the messages got a lot more interesting. Nathan seemed to be erratic, texting Frank at three or four AM and offering to pay double for fast service. And Frank was getting more pissed off, because who wouldn’t when they were dealing with a Prescott?

A pit opened up in Chloe’s stomach. She’d been right the first time: this was _not_ normal or okay behavior. Nathan was buying a shitload of drugs and getting angry—angrier than Chloe thought was possible over text—when Frank tried to cut him off. It was only words, but Chloe actually felt a little scared as she scrolled through the messages. Chloe tried to pretend Nathan was just stockpiling for the latest Vortex Club blowout. But she had a feeling that half of those drugs were going straight into Nathan’s body. _Jesus._ How had Nathan not overdosed yet? He was pumping himself with everything Frank had in stock. Whatever messed up shit Nathan had seen, he was trying way too hard to medicate it out of his head.

The week of the party was the worst. Nathan blew up at Frank, Frank threatened to cut Nathan’s throat if he came around again. There was something especially horrifying about watching two dangerous men threaten each other over text.

The last text on the phone was Nathan asking to talk to Damon. Frank never responded to that one. But there were some anonymous texts about drops and prices from an unknown number. That had to be Damon. Chloe was pretty sure that Nathan had met up directly with Damon at some point, maybe arranged some kind of deal. Nathan was buying drugs directly from Damon. Buying them at a discount and telling them to Blackwell students. Cutting out the middle man.

Chloe checked out the photos she’d taken of Frank’s account book. She compared some of the message dates with any purchases made by “Rottweiler”. Chloe almost cheered when she noticed how many of them lined up. Frank had a crapload of customers in Arcadia Bay, but Chloe was pretty sure she’d decoded at least one of them. “Rottweiler” was definitely Nathan Prescott. And now Chloe knew exactly where he’d been during the week of the party and what drugs he’d bought.

Her stomach flipped over when she noticed all the GHB Nathan had purchased from Frank. It was fucking disgusting that Frank was even selling that stuff to people, especially teens. Chloe knew about that one from some of her chemistry projects: “Gamma Hydroxybutyrate”. The date rape drug. _Someone—_ probably Nathan—must have been using it to drug girls. That explained a few things.

Chloe was already feeling sick, but she kept going. It was all going to be worth it after they took the Prescotts down. And if Frank and Damon didn’t go down with them, Chloe could deal with them separately. Those two were going to be a lot less tough after Chloe finished crushing their nuts with a baseball bat.

Max was working on the coordinates. Chloe showed her the photos from Frank’s account book to make things a little easier.

Working together, they managed to sync up the coordinates with the messages and the stuff from Frank’s account book. Max plugged the coordinates into a search engine and was able to pull up a few possible locations: a gas station, a barn, and some other places. Nathan had been super busy during the week of the party. He’d been going back and forth from Blackwell several times a day.

David had also been tracking Max’s car. He clearly didn’t trust Max as much as he pretended to. But then again, David was so paranoid that he probably didn’t trust anyone. Trust just wasn’t in David’s playbook.

Adding up the coordinates, the dates in the account book, and the messages, all evidence pointed to a barn somewhere outside town. It was one of the few locations that Chloe and Max didn’t recognize. Definitely not a popular hangout for the youth of Arcadia Bay.

“Shit,” said Chloe. “You think that’s it?”

Max was already doing research. There wasn’t a lot of info about the barn floating around the Internet. Even with the coordinates and a photo, Max could barely find anything. But after a few minutes of frantic searching, she grabbed something interesting. She’d pulled up a list of names.

“Yeah,” said Max. “Has to be.”

She pointed at the screen.

“Harry Aaron Prescott,” said Max. “The guy who owns our haunted barn.”

Chloe swallowed. _Prescott._ It always had to be _Prescott._

Max leaned back in her seat, staring at the photo on the screen. Neither of them had ever seen a more cursed building. And it was way out in the middle of nowhere. Not really the kind of place anyone went unless they needed privacy. Or if they had something to hide.

“We have to call someone,” said Max. “The cops? David?”

Chloe snorted. On the off chance the cops listened to them, what the fuck did they even have? A photo of a barn? Some coordinates? A stolen phone? Knowing their luck, they’d probably get arrested for all the breaking and entering. And David was going to totally ream them for going into his private files.

“It’s just us,” Chloe said.

She poked Max’s shoulder and stared into her eyes.

“It’s fine,” Chloe said. “I have my rewind and you have your big nerdy brain. We don’t need anyone else.”

Max rubbed her shoulder and nervously chewed her bottom lip.

“Can we at least tell someone?” said Max.

Chloe rolled her eyes, but she didn’t have a good argument against that. Anything to make Max feel better about what they were walking into.

She pulled out her phone and texted Steph. Chloe knew Mikey would freak the fuck out, but Steph was way more chill. She told Steph that they were heading to a deserted barn in the middle of nowhere so Max could take some photos for a project. She promised David was with them—a total lie—and to maybe drive out there if they weren’t back by the time the Vortex Club bash was in full swing.

She showed Max the text after she sent it. It was the best Chloe could do. Not that Chloe felt particularly better with her Steph and Mikey safety net. And even though Max smiled, Chloe could tell they were both equal amounts of scared for their lives.

* * *

The barn looked even more rundown in person. From the outside, Chloe would have guessed no one had been there in over a hundred years. Of course that made her wonder why the hell her and Max were even investigating the place. If it really was abandoned, they’d basically driven out there for no good reason when they could have been partying.

Max got out of the truck, slamming the door behind her.

“We have to be quick,” said Chloe. “If we’re not back soon, Steph and Mikey are going to come after us.”

She approached the barn. Chloe’s dominant hand was already itching. Big abandoned building in the middle of nowhere? How could any self-respecting graffitist resist? Chloe had an idea in her head before she reached the barn doors: an owl flashing the double guns. Ambitious, but more than fitting for this place.

Chloe pulled the gun out of her bag and looked at it for a minute. She really didn’t like the way it felt in her hand. It didn’t make her feel badass. It made Chloe feel like a murderer. She _could_ have been a murderer. Twice. And for what? Some information? For _Max?_ Chloe didn’t like the kind of person she was willing to be. Maybe it was time to make a hard choice.

She tossed the gun. Chloe was a little worried that someone might find it, but she was pretty sure that wasn’t going to happen. They were in the middle of nowhere. Plus getting rid of it made Chloe feel a lot better. She wasn’t going to hurt anyone. She needed to be better than Nathan.

Chloe tried the barn doors. Locked. _Fuck._ Why would anyone lock an abandoned barn? There couldn’t have been anything in there worth stealing, except maybe some old broken down farm equipment.

She noticed a thick power cord that disappeared under the door. So there was electricity. Electricity in a barn in the middle of nowhere that looked like the set of a horror movie. Not a good sign.

Max grabbed Chloe’s arm, making Chloe jump in surprise.

“I don’t like this,” Max said.

Chloe tried the barn doors again, this time with one hand. No luck. The doors looked old, but whatever was keeping them shut wasn’t. Someone—probably a Prescott—was determined to keep trespassers out.

“No shit,” Chloe said.

Max let go of Chloe’s arm. She didn’t say it, but they were both thinking it: there was no way they were splitting up. That was what dumb people in horror movies did. And it hardly ever worked out in movies, so why would it work in real life?

They both went around the side, Max looking over her shoulder like she thought Nathan might show up. She shouldn’t have worried about that. Nathan was at Blackwell hosting another stupid Vortex Club party and probably getting nursed back to health by Victoria. This was actually the perfect time to be snooping around an abandoned barn.

Chloe almost hoped they wouldn’t be able to get in. If they couldn’t find a way into that barn, they could always just hop into the truck and drive back to Max’s house. That would suck, but Chloe already had a Plan B: beating the shit out of David until he told them everything he knew.

Chloe’s heart sank. _Fuck._ There was a secret entrance. Almost hidden by a board that made it blend into the wall, but it was there. This was it. No going back.

Max moved the board aside. She bowed and gestured for Chloe to go in first.

Chloe stepped through the opening and into the barn. While Max climbed through, Chloe pulled out her phone. Unsurprisingly, no cell service. This place really was in the middle of nowhere. No houses for miles. Chloe and Max could have screamed until their lungs exploded and no one would have heard them.

The inside was five times creepier than the outside. Lots of broken farm equipment, a chest full of God-knows-what, and hay all over the floor. Chloe got a really bad vibe from the place. It didn’t _feel_ abandoned. It felt active and alive. Someone had been using this place. But why? And for what? What could the Prescotts possibly be doing with a barn in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere?

Max flipped open the chest near the entrance.

Chloe flinched, expecting a dead body. Or a bunch of animal skulls. Or a skinned deer. Thankfully, it was none of those things. It was a bunch of old papers and newspaper clippings stuffed into a box. There were also some photographs.

Chloe sighed. _Crap_ _._ This was just some stupid Prescott history museum, wasn’t it? They were about to waste their time digging through old newspaper headlines instead of actually finding anything important. And while they were doing that, Nathan was probably chatting up and drugging people at the Vortex Club party. _Good one, Price. So heroic._

Max dug some papers out of the chest.

“ ‘ _Founding of new library’,”_ Max read out loud. _“ ‘Prescotts bring bomb shelter boom to town’.”_

Chloe started looking around. There had to be something more useful than some headlines and photos. There had to be. This couldn’t just be the biggest waste of time ever.

Chloe dropped to her knees and felt around the floor. If she was going to hide something in a deserted barn in the middle of nowhere, where would she put it? Underground. Because that was the last place anyone was going to look.

She stood up and started nudging the hay around. Chloe wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but she probably didn’t need her rewind to find it.

“This is _a lot,”_ said Max. “It’s, like, prehistoric. All the way back to the 1880s.”

She leaned deeper into the chest.

“Harry Aaron Prescott, Martin Lewis Prescott, Jeremiah Davis Prescott,” Max said. “Holy shit. Chloe, they _built_ this town.”

Chloe snorted.

“Awesome,” she said. “Who gives a shit? Nathan’s still a freak and his dad’s an asshole. I’m sure great-great-granddad would be proud.”

She had zero interest in Prescott history. She already knew all the good stuff the Prescotts had done for Arcadia Bay. But that was a long time ago, back before Nathan or Sean or any of the other Prescott skid marks. Maybe they’d been good and honorable at some point, but Chloe doubted it. Their whole family line was probably rotten.

Chloe scraped her foot across the floor, moving some hay aside. She frowned. What the hell was that?

She got on her hands and knees to move more hay aside. A minute later, Chloe found herself staring at a padlocked door.

Her heart sank. She remembered that thing she was thinking earlier: hiding something in a deserted barn. Chloe had a feeling this wasn’t just some weird Prescott history museum. And this wasn’t just a barn in the middle of nowhere.

“Found something!” Chloe said.

Max ran over to see what Chloe was looking at. She frowned.

“That—that looks like a door,” said Max.

Chloe bit her lip.

“Yeah, it does,” Chloe said. “Any ideas? Or, like, a pair of bolt cutters?”

She suddenly wished she’d raided the science lab for some corrosives. Chemicals were way more fun than a set of keys, especially if the set of keys wasn’t within grabbing distance. Chloe mentally kicked herself for not searching Nathan’s room more thoroughly. If she’d known this was going to happen, she would have just said _fuck it_ and broken into Nathan’s car. They had nothing to lose at this point.

“You’re the scientist,” Max said. “Use your nerd brain.”

Chloe folded her arms. _Shit._ Max was right. Chloe came across problems like this all the time. She just needed to think of this like a project.

“No bolt cutters,” said Chloe.

She looked around. Normally Chloe had beakers and stuff, but this time she had basically nothing to work with. She couldn’t make a bomb or whip up a dose of corrosive to melt the lock. All she had was some broken farm equipment and a chest full of memories. Not very helpful.

She pointed at a rope and hook hanging on the wall. It was one of those things farmers used to lift hay bales.

“Can you attach that to the padlock?” said Chloe. “And maybe if we got something heavy enough, we could just tear the fucker off with physics?”

Max grabbed the rope and hook. It wasn’t the greatest plan, but it was the best they had. So she attached the hook to the padlock without saying anything.

Through the power of an old motor—and the wonders of physics—Chloe managed to rig something up. She needed Max to boost her up to the second floor so she could attach the rope. It really was a team effort. Chloe realized—for maybe the one thousandth time—that there was no way she could have done this without Max. Chloe would have been totally lost on her own. She would have given up a long time ago. But knowing Max believed in her and wanted her to see this through gave Chloe the perspective she desperately needed. No matter what they found down there, everything was going to be fine.

Chloe shoved the motor off the side of the rafters. Her heart almost stopped a split second before it fell. Because if this didn’t work, she didn’t have a back-up plan. This was all up to gravity. And unlike time, gravity wasn’t something Chloe could control.

The momentum ripped the padlock right off the door. They were in.

Chloe jumped down from the rafters. Max rushed to meet her when she came down and wrapped her in a hug.

“That was awesome,” Max said.

Chloe returned the hug. That _was_ awesome. Not as awesome as an explosion, but pretty good. Ms. Holt would have been proud of them.

“Kiss for good luck?” said Chloe.

Max laughed. She grabbed Chloe by the shoulders and gave her a little peck on the lips. It wasn’t the kiss they had in Max’s room, but it still went straight to Chloe’s heart.

“We’re so close,” Max said. “I can feel it.”

Close to _what_ was another story altogether.

Chloe and Max opened the door. It took some effort, both of them grunting with exertion. But after a few seconds, they managed to get the door open.

“What the _fuck?”_ Chloe said.

She was getting tired of saying that, but there was no better response to what she was seeing. _Stairs._ There were stairs leading down. Chloe didn’t know what she’d expected when she saw that door. It wasn’t the stairs that caught her off guard. It was the fact that they looked so shiny and chrome, like something out of a sci-fi movie. It was such a weird contrast from the ancient rundown barn they were standing in.

Chloe took Max’s hand, leading her down the stairs. Chloe actually felt like she was descending into hell. If this turned into a Dante’s Inferno style adventure, she was going to flip her shit.

There was a giant metal door blocking their way. Whoever had built this stuff, they really _really_ wanted to keep people out. This was getting more bizarre and horrifying by the minute. What were the Prescotts hiding? Chloe wanted to believe it was something normal, but she couldn’t fool herself. This was bad news.

Max touched the keypad next to the door.

“Nathan’s birthday?” said Max.

It was a three-digit code. Probably not a birthday, because that would have been too easy.

But Max tried Nathan’s birthday first. She wasn’t shocked when the keypad bleeped at them and the light turned red. Of course it wasn’t that easy. The Prescotts knew how to guard their _real_ secrets.

After three tries, the keypad locked. Chloe had to rewind so they could try again.

“What the hell is this place?” Max said.

Chloe dragged her fingers over the keypad.

“I don’t know,” said Chloe.

“Some of the numbers are faded,” said Max.

Her brow furrowed in concentration, she started pressing the faded numbers. The first combination made the keypad bleep and the light turned red. The second one did the same. Max’s hands were shaking and she looked a little less sure of herself by the time she tried the third combo.

The keypad beeped and the light turned green. The door was unlocked.

Chloe shoved open the door and went in first. She expected someone to be in there. Probably Sean Prescott chilling with a glass of whiskey and a gun. Waiting for them because he somehow knew what they were doing.

The room was empty. Everything—the walls and the floor—were smooth and shiny. There were shelves lined with cans and boxes of food, a glass coffee table, a couch, a sound system that looked like it cost more than Max’s house. And at the very end of the room, there was a little place set up for taking pictures.

“What the hell?” said Chloe.

This was a bunker. Fully stocked for the apocalypse. Either Sean Prescott was a dedicated prepper with too much cash on his hands or….

Bunkers. Storms. _The storm._ It was starting to make sense.

Max was opening drawers and cabinets. She wasn’t worried about getting her fingerprints anywhere. They’d kind of passed that point. They were in too deep to actually worry about being caught.

Chloe tried not to look at the creepy artwork. This place felt so _strange,_ almost like it didn’t even belong in their reality. There was something nightmarish about that huge room full of expensive photo equipment and canned food. It seemed unnatural.

Max pulled open a cabinet. She frowned at what was inside. Binders? Why was someone stashing binders in a bunker? They kind of looked like something Max would have expected to find in David’s garage. Did those binders belong to David? Some extra material for his creepy hobby? Max shuddered at the thought of David and Sean Prescott working together. She didn’t want to think David would ever team up with a Prescott, but she just couldn’t be sure anymore. How well did she really know her step-dad? How much did she actually trust him after all the messed up crap she’d found?

One of the binders had Rachel’s name on it. Max pulled that one off the shelf and carried it over to the desk. She didn’t even look at the names on the other binders.

Chloe rushed over to see what Max had found. Chloe had a gross feeling in her chest and she didn’t know why.

“What is it?” said Chloe.

She was staring at the binder like it might bite her. They were finally going to get answers. They were finally going to figure out what happened to Rachel Amber. Everything they’d done had been leading up to this exact moment in time. And Chloe wasn’t sure whether she was nervous or excited. Or both. She felt like they’d been doing this for a thousand years.

“Rachel,” said Max.

She stroked the front of the binder like she could feel Rachel’s heartbeat.

Her hand shaking, Max flipped the binder open. She did it quickly, before she could change her mind. Before she could decide that there were some things she didn’t want to know. Before Max could think about what Rachel would have wanted her to do. Max knew—or thought she knew—what Rachel wanted: to be found.

Max pressed her hand to her mouth. Her heart slammed into her ribcage at full force, her chest throbbing from the impact.

Chloe grabbed the desk as the room started spinning. She wasn’t sure what she seeing at first, because the world chose that moment to tilt and almost knock her off her feet. The sensation of being swirled around in a glass like a cocktail olive almost overtook her. Chloe steadied herself, holding onto the desk and telling herself to calm down. Telling herself that she had to look again, that she had to make _sure,_ even if her stomach was churning and she was pretty sure she was going to puke all over herself.

The photos were in black and white. Chloe knew jack-shit about photography, but those angles looked professional. It was all shot dramatically and deliberately. It was shot the same way Max would have done still life. But this wasn’t still life. This was Rachel Amber, her eyes wide and her face turned towards the camera. She was clearly out of it, her eyes completely empty of emotion or awareness. Someone had posed her. The person behind the camera had posed Rachel’s barely-conscious body like it was a mannequin or a doll. And then they’d taken photos of her. Enough to fill up two pages. Polaroids.

Chloe glanced at the fancy tripod. Now she knew why that was in the bunker.

Max let out a deep strangled sob. She doubled over, wrapping her arms around her stomach like she was in pain.

“No,” said Max. “ _No._ Not her. Please. _No.”_

Chloe was still looking at the tripod, the gears in her brain turning at ludicrous speed. _No. No._ This was all wrong. None of it made sense. They were missing something. They were missing something so obvious and in their face that it was almost laughable.

“Why would Nathan _do_ this?” said Max. “Why would anyone…? What the fuck? _What the fuck?”_

She touched the page, breathing heavily. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the photos. Each one was like its own nightmare. In some of them Rachel looked more awake and aware, like she knew what was going on. Max recognized that furious expression, that fire she loved so much. That fire she didn’t see in so many of the other photos. She saw Rachel backed into a corner like a wounded animal, her arms tied and her face filled with fear. Fear and _rage,_ like she wanted to grab whoever was behind the counter and tear them to shreds with her teeth.

Max paused, her fingers hovering over one of the photos.

“Is that…?” she started.

Max jerked back, like a flash of electricity had just shot up her spine.

“No,” she said. _“No._ No fucking way.”

Rachel wasn’t moving and her eyes were closed. Nathan seemed to be lowering her into a hole in the ground. A grave. Nathan was putting Rachel into a grave. And Rachel didn’t look like she was conscious, like she was even slightly aware of what was happening. There was no light in Rachel’s eyes and her whole body was limp, her head tilted up towards the sky and her clothes wrinkled. Max recognized that outfit. It was something Rachel had only worn on special occasions, one of those iconic Rachel outfits that only saw the outside of Rachel’s closet once in a blue moon.

It was staged. It had to be. _It had to be._

But it couldn’t have been staged. No amount of money would have convinced Rachel to do that. She would have never agreed to be tied up, to be drugged and backed into a corner. The fear in Rachel’s eyes was real. It was a steady progression from Rachel looking awake and furious to Rachel becoming more and more hollow, the life leaving her eyes and her arms hanging at her sides. And finally that one shot of Rachel being lowered into a hole. Nathan documenting the whole thing with his camera, like he needed to make sure that everyone knew exactly what he did.

Max grabbed Chloe’s arm.

“The junkyard,” she said. “It’s the junkyard. We have to go there. _Now.”_

Of course Max recognized the spot. Her and Chloe must have passed it dozens of times.

Chloe nodded. She didn’t have time to think. She just followed Max out of the bunker.


	4. The Blackwell Campus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And more plot points based on unused content!

Chloe drove to the junkyard. It wasn’t the first time she’d been behind the wheel, but she felt like it was. Her hands were shaking so badly that she was afraid she might just plow them into a tree. And Max was sitting next to her, hugging herself and muttering about how those pictures couldn’t have been real.

But they _were_ real. It was all real and it was coming together in Chloe’s head. She should have suspected from the very beginning, but how the fuck was she supposed to know? But now that she actually filled in the gaps? It felt real. It felt _evil._

Max knew exactly where she was going. The second Chloe parked, Max was shoving open the door and running out into the junkyard. It was insane how they’d been there just two days ago. It was even more insane that they were actually coming back. This wasn’t Max and Rachel’s secret place anymore.

Chloe already knew what they were going to find. But she let Max lead the way, let Max run ahead with the desperation of someone in denial. Chloe wanted to treasure those last few minutes of not knowing, those precious seconds before Max’s heart was broken all over again. It was all either of them had.

And as they ran, Chloe saw a doe. A doe standing amid the junk, staring at her like it knew she was there. Chloe could see right through its body. It wasn’t real, Chloe realized as she looked at it. It was just another thing Chloe couldn’t explain, like traveling back in time with the graffiti or Nathan in that alternate reality.

_Alternate reality._ In every reality, Rachel was missing. In every reality, someone was grieving for her. This was all meant to happen. Every part of it. This was destiny. And stuff like destiny was beyond science, beyond reason and logic.

Chloe thought her heart couldn’t sink any further, but there it was. She stared at the doe until she couldn’t see it anymore, her eyes stinging with tears.

Max was kneeling on the ground. She was pawing at the dirt, scooping away little fistfuls and getting it under her fingernails. She stopped to drag the back of her hand across her face, wiping away tears. Her chest was heaving. She hadn’t even found anything yet and she was already starting to sob. Max felt like her chest and stomach were going to cave in. But she kept digging with her hands.

Chloe rushed to help. She scrabbled at the dirt like she was looking for buried treasure. An insane thought jumped into Chloe’s head: she really should have brought a shovel. A shovel was the one thing she wanted right now because digging with her hands fucking hurt. The thought almost made Chloe laugh, but not because it was funny or it made sense. It almost made her laugh because her chest was starting to get tight like she was about to cry.

All this time. _All this time._ Hoping and praying. Thinking about how awesome it was going to be when they finally met Rachel, when Chloe finally got to ask Rachel all those questions, when Chloe finally got some answers. But that was always just Chloe being optimistic.

When the smell hit her, Chloe pitched backwards. She clamped a hand over her mouth, her stomach churning. _Fuck._ It was the worst thing she’d ever smelled in her whole entire life.

“Rachel?” said Max.

She’d stopped digging. She was frozen with her hands hanging limply at her sides, staring into the little hole of disturbed earth.

Chloe forced herself to look, her hand over her mouth so she didn’t just vomit up her lunch. She saw what looked like clothes or a tarp sticking out of the hole. And the _smel_ _l_ _._ It stung the inside of Chloe’s nose and made her eyes water.

Max fell backwards. She half-crawled and half-ran away from the hole like a scared animal, scrabbling a few inches back on all fours. She bent her head forward and dry-heaved into the dirt. The floodgates had finally opened all the way. Max was sobbing, her arms around her stomach as she dry-heaved. She wanted to puke, but nothing would come out.

Chloe scrambled over to Max. She had to skirt around the hole to get there and the smell nearly took her out right there. But she somehow made it. Chloe grabbed Max and pulled her into an embrace, pressing Max’s head against her chest and holding her close. The feeling in Chloe’s gut was indescribable. There was anger in there, but she couldn’t aim it at anyone. She was just angry. Angry at the world for doing this. Angry at herself for not realizing so many things sooner. And angry that she couldn’t do a single thing about any of this.

Rachel Amber was gone. It should have ended there, Chloe thought. Because what else was there? Holding a sobbing Max in her arms and listening to her own heartbeat, there wasn’t a single other thing in the world that Chloe cared about. Fuck Blackwell. Fuck the Vortex Club. Fuck Nathan Prescott. And most importantly, _fuck Arcadia Bay._

In the other reality, had anyone found Rachel’s body? And if they had, did Other Max and Other Chloe even care? Probably not. Because in the other reality, none of this mattered. In the other reality, Max was sad and Chloe was an even crappier friend. In the other reality, neither of them had a reason to give a crap about Rachel Amber. But in _this_ reality, Rachel was dead and it mattered more than anything else.

But the storm was still coming. And before Arcadia Bay got wiped off the map, Chloe was in the mood for some revenge.

She saw the doe one last time. It was standing a few feet away. As Chloe watched it, it bowed its head. Chloe didn’t know what it was trying to say. And she was probably never going to find out, because a minute later it was gone. It just faded away, like it was never there.

* * *

Chloe drove them to Blackwell. She didn’t discuss this with Max before she did it. She hardly even thought about it, because who even cared anymore? Chloe was always telling herself to pick a path and stick with it. Well, she’d finally found her calling in life.

She understood. Or at least she understood as much as she could. And there was a huge chance she was way off. But Chloe was pretty confident that she got it now. If only she’d been a super genius from the beginning.

For whatever reason, this was all about Rachel. Finding Rachel, avenging Rachel’s death, and ultimately taking down the piece of trash who did this to her. Sure, that didn’t cover _everything._ But if Chloe was holding out for a big explanation that covered all the bases, she was probably shit out of luck.

Arcadia Bay wanted this. Chloe didn’t know how or why, but that had to be it. If everything had been leading up to this, there was only one way this went down. That was why Chloe had her rewind. So her and Max could get justice. _Real_ justice.

She told all this to Max. Including all the extra stuff Chloe had brewing in her head. She knew Max wasn’t going to go for any of it, but tough shit. Chloe needed Mad Max on board.

“No way,” Max said. “ _No._ What—what are you _saying,_ Chloe? This is serious.”

She almost sounded offended, like she thought Chloe was mocking her or making fun of Rachel’s death. But deep down, she had to know Chloe would never do that. There was no version of Chloe who got pissed off enough to be that cruel.

Chloe squeezed the steering wheel. She tried to ask herself what Max would do, but that didn’t really work anymore. She knew what Max would do. Max was sitting right beside her. There had to be someone else. Another rational person in Chloe’s life.

_Steph._ What would Steph Gingrich do? What would Mikey do? Those two would have busted their asses to save their best friend, to do the one thing only they could pull off. Steph would have never hesitated. Steph was such a good friend. The kind of person Chloe wished she could be. Well, here was her chance. Her chance to prove that she really was a good person.

“Look, I know it sounds insane,” Chloe said. “But it adds up, right? It all fucking adds up and I was too dumb to see it. That’s on me, Max.”

Max hugged herself and shook her head. This was too much too soon. But it wasn’t like Chloe was going to get a chance for Max to cool down. This might be their only chance to act. How much of this was destiny and how much was Max and Chloe just making it up as they went along? Was it destiny that Max and Chloe met each other all those years ago? Destiny that Chloe left? Destiny that Nathan Prescott almost shot Max in the bathroom?

“But what about Nathan?” Max said.

Chloe bit her lip. She’d thought this all the way through. From beginning to end. And she just couldn’t think of anything that made any more sense. The truth sucked, but it was the truth. Chloe was ninety-nine percent sure.

“I’m not saying he’s not in this,” said Chloe. “I just don’t think he’s the big boss, okay? Nathan’s not–”

How did she explain this without sounding like an armchair psychologist? That stuff was Steph’s deal. All that crap about human nature and serial killers. But Chloe _did_ remember that one time Steph talked to her about sociopaths _._ The only reason she didn’t tune Steph out was because it was actually super interesting.

“It’s not Nathan,” Chloe said. “It’s—it’s someone else who loves fancy camera equipment. Someone who likes to take pictures. Someone who had access to the Vortex Club parties and tons of t girls and…”

She couldn’t even bring herself to say it. Just the thought made her angrier than she even thought possible. And Chloe had been angry before. But this was a new kind of the rage, the kind that made Chloe want to jump out of her seat and do something.

“Okay,” said Max. “But _Mark Jefferson?_ Chloe, that’s totally insane. Why would he do this?”

Chloe gritted her teeth.

“I don’t fucking know,” said Chloe. “Who cares? But that shithead can’t keep getting away with this. We’re taking him down. _Tonight._ For Rachel.”

She squeezed the steering wheel and pressed down harder on the gas. Chloe’s head was still trying to wrap itself around the Rachel situation. But that was good. Chloe needed that energy right now. She needed that motivation if she was going to get through this.

“We’ll scope it out,” said Chloe. “And then we’ll swing by your place and grab one of David’s guns.”

Max reached to grab Chloe’s arm, but she realized that was probably a terrible idea. Chloe was already driving way too fast.

“So, what, we’re going to shoot him at the Vortex Club party?” Max said. “Think about what you’re saying, Chloe. This isn’t a game.”

Chloe let out a bitter laugh. _No shit._ It stopped being a game the second Chloe chose to save Max in that bathroom. It just took Chloe a long time to realize that her powers weren’t some kind of gift or a toy. Chloe hoped something—or someone—was really watching over them. Because they couldn’t do this on their own.

“Why don’t we just go to the cops?” said Max.

Chloe sighed.

“Because Jeffershit is with the Prescotts,” Chloe said. “If he goes down, the Prescotts go down with him. So that asshole’s probably protected. And we have no proof.”

Max folded her arms. Her tears had dried. She was ready to start crying again, but she had more pressing stuff to deal with.

“Yeah, exactly,” said Max. “No proof. How do you even know it’s Jefferson?”

Chloe couldn’t answer that. Of course Max wasn’t ready to accept that the guy she admired might be a total scumbag. But Max was right about one thing: Chloe had zero proof. What did they actually have? A bunker? Some creepy pictures? A bunch of wild theories? None of that stuff could be traced back to Jefferson. They needed something more solid.

“I don’t,” Chloe said. “That’s why we’re going to break into his office.”

She pulled into the school parking lot. The party had already started. There were some people standing around outside, but half the school must have been getting wasted in there. The Prescotts had actually rented out the pool for this shindig. Rich bastards. On the bright side, that meant the actual school building was probably deserted. Time for another strategic break-in.

“Chloe, we can’t do that,” said Max.

Chloe opened the truck door and jumped out. The night air felt way too cold against her skin, but she ignored it. It was such a weirdly beautiful night, almost like something out of a storybook. She could hear students yelling and laughing, people having the time of their lives. It was so surreal. Chloe felt like she was standing in a completely different universe. It was almost disorienting. After tonight—one way or the other—Blackwell was never going to be the same again.

“You want proof or not?” Chloe said.

Max got out of the truck, chewing her bottom lip and staring at the ground. What was she supposed to say? On one hand, Max couldn’t accept that Mark Jefferson—one of the greatest photographers in the world—would do something like that. Max had been following his work since she was a kid. He was one of her biggest inspirations. His early work was what solidified Max’s interest in becoming a photographer, a dream she basically abandoned after she dropped out of Blackwell. But on the other hand, did Max really doubt anything Chloe was saying?

“Okay,” Max said. “Lead the way, Lupin.”

This wasn’t the time for jokes, but Chloe appreciated the effort. This was too much for either of them. Humor was all they had in this slowly escalating nightmare.

Chloe took Max’s hand and led her to the main school building. Fortunately, the doors were unlocked. Chloe was ready—and willing—to bust some glass if she had to. She wanted to take a crowbar to everything within smashing distance. Chloe was sick of this place _before_ all of this happened. Now all she wanted was to burn it to the ground. Maybe after they strangled the life out of Mark Jefferson in front of everyone at the Vortex Club party.

Max followed Chloe into the building. She kept looking around like she thought they were going to get caught.

Chloe shuddered as the doors swung shut behind them. There was that after-hours creepiness. It was worse than it was the last time. _Slow down,_ _Price. We might actually die if we get busted._

They walked into Mr. Jefferson’s deserted classroom. Just like everywhere else, it was ten times spookier at night. And an extra twenty percent because of what Chloe and Max were about to do.

“Still wish you hadn’t dropped out?” said Chloe.

Max didn’t respond to Chloe’s shitty attempt at levity. She lagged in the doorway, pointing her phone light at the ceiling and frowning. It kept hitting her over and over again, like getting punched in the face every few minutes: Rachel Amber was dead. _Dead._ A part of Max had known that all along and she knew Chloe predicted it without her time powers. But actually seeing the body, seeing what was left of Rachel? Max felt like she was in a nightmare and she couldn’t wake up. Who could have guessed this was what she’d be doing while a party was raging at Blackwell?

Chloe was kind of upset that she was never going to meet Rachel. But maybe she didn’t actually want to? Rachel sounded so complicated, like an abstract piece of art. Chloe couldn’t tell which part fit where or what she was even looking at. But everyone seemed to like Rachel. And Chloe wasn’t sure if she agreed or disagreed with everyone who thought Rachel was awesome. What did anyone actually know about Rachel? That she was beautiful? That she was smart? None of that actually mattered when Rachel was dead.

Her stomach flipped over. _Fuck._ Someone was going to have to tell Rachel’s parents. Chloe almost wished she could call them. Call them and tell them the whole story, even the parts they wouldn’t believe. And Chloe wanted to call her own parents, just in case something happened. Just in case she never got the chance to thank them for letting her go to Blackwell. But what would Chloe even say? She’d barely answered any of their frantic texts. Eventually she’d have to talk to them. But not now.

Chloe tried the door to Jefferson’s office. Of course it was locked.

“Shit,” Max said.

Chloe charged at the door and rammed her shoulder into it. And then she did it again. And again. And again. She kept going until Max grabbed her by the arm and held her back.

“What the hell?” Max said.

Chloe rubbed her sore shoulder. She’d never tried that before and a part of her actually thought it might work. Now she needed a new plan. A _better_ plan. Something subtle and brilliant.

Chloe went out into the hallway and grabbed a fire extinguisher. On second thought, screwsubtle. Chloe and Max had already crossed about seven different lines. And now Chloe just didn’t give two craps anymore.

She bashed the door handle a dozen times. The lock probably gave on the second or third one, but Chloe kept hitting it. It felt nice to destroy something after that insane day. It felt amazing to just unleash her rage on a stupid door.

Chloe tossed the extinguisher aside. She wasn’t even going to rewind that one. If she was right, Jeffershit deserved a busted door.

She marched into the office. Max was right behind her.

Max hesitated, like she was scared she might get in trouble for breaking a dozen school rules. Chloe almost laughed at Max’s reluctance. After all the crap that had happened, Max was _still_ worried about them getting busted? _Holy shit._ It was almost adorable.

Chloe switched on the desk lamp.

For a photographer, Mark Jefferson really sucked at interior decorating. It was just a desk, a chair, and some photos. _Boring._ Chloe had expected wall-to-ceiling Polaroids and some fancy modern art. Sure, it was a small office. But was this really the best he could do? Ms. Holt’s office—Chloe had been there precisely once—had a full periodic table and science posters everywhere.

Chloe made sure to leave a little present in Jefferson’s office. One more thing to piss him off if he actually _was_ responsible for Rachel’s death. Plus Chloe was still determined to tag every single room at Blackwell. This might be her only chance.

She drew a bird on Jefferson’s desk. A raven. Very artsy. Chloe drew it with its wings spread and its beak turned upwards, like it was soaring through a dark sky. She gave it a lot of detail. Jefferson was an artist, right? Chloe couldn’t wait to get his excellent opinion. After all, the guy needed something to do while he was behind bars.

Chloe copied the raven into her graffiti journal. That one definitely needed to go on record. It was maybe the coolest thing Chloe had ever drawn.

The desk drawer wasn’t locked. There was probably nothing incriminating in there, but Chloe opened it. It was pretty much the only thing in the room she could actually search.

She pulled out a folder. Entries for the Everyday Heroes contest. Kind of weird how they were in Mr. Jefferson’s office, but also super boring. _Dammit._ The good stuff must have been at Mr. Jefferson’s house.

Chloe flipped open the folder. It sucked that they weren’t getting anything good, but Chloe wasn’t ready to bail. Once she figured out where Mr. Jefferson lived, she was driving herself and Max over there, breaking a window or whatever the fuck else she needed to do, and then rewinding away the damage.

She rolled her eyes at the folder’s contents. _Holy crap._ So much pretentious bullshit. Victoria’s was actually pretty good—it physically hurt for her to admit that—but everyone else? Chloe barely knew shit about photography, but nothing about those pictures stood out to her. _Said Chloe Price, renowned art critic. Get over yourself._

She closed the folder and put it back in the drawer. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing for them. No paper trail. Or _any_ trail. But of course Mark Jefferson wasn’t an idiot. If he’d been doing this as long as Chloe thought he had, he’d learned all the rules. There were _a lot_ of binders. The guy must have been a pro by now.

“Let’s go,” said Chloe. “I bet Nathan has something for us.”

She clenched her fist and grimaced. She was done playing nice. And despite outward appearances, this whole thing had very much been Chloe “playing nice”. Gloves off, angry face on. Time to start busting balls. If Nathan didn’t want to talk, Chloe was going to beat the crap out of him until he did. And she was going to do it in front of all of his stupid Vortex Club bros.

A figure appeared in the doorway, blocking their escape.

Chloe and Max stopped dead in their tracks, Chloe’s hands on the strap of her bag and Max trying to fumble her phone out of her pocket.

Mark Jefferson stood in the doorway, one hand on the door frame and a surprised look on his face. At the sight of the two girls, the surprised look rearranged itself into a smile. He looked taller and slightly more intimidating than usual, but maybe that was because he was literally blocking the exit. No room to squeeze past and make a run for it. Chloe couldn’t tell if he was doing that on purpose or if it was just because the room and the doorway were so small.

“Chloe,” said Jefferson. “Why aren’t you at the party?”

For a split second, Chloe appreciated how his first question wasn’t “ _What the hell are you doing in my office?”_ followed by threats of suspension. Jefferson hardly ever had the normal teacher reaction to anything and Chloe appreciated him being cool. Or at least she _had_ appreciated him being cool. Now that she knew—or thought she knew—the truth, this whole thing was coming off as an act. Had it _always_ been an act? Was Chloe the biggest dumbass on the planet because she totally fell for it?

“We were, um, you know,” said Chloe.

She glanced at Max, hoping to imply something even though she had no clue what she was supposed to be saying. Something that got Jefferson off their backs. Or should she just rewind so they could get the hell out of there?

She held up her hand. Using her rewind was kind of comforting, like hugging and kissing a long lost friend. She felt weirdly at home in the time stream, as if she’d lived there for her entire life. And she kind of had. Her rewind had been her constant companion throughout multiple realities. It wasn’t her oldest and best friend—that honor went to Max—but it came in second place.

But Chloe wasn’t running. That bastard murdered Rachel Amber and he was probably planning to dose someone—or have Nathan do it—at the Vortex Club party. Taking him down had to be their priority.

She dropped her hand. Before her head could settle, Chloe turned to Max.

“Jefferson’s coming,” Chloe said.

Max looked at Chloe with terror in her eyes.

It was weird how Max was still so concerned with getting in trouble. Chloe had jettisoned that a long time ago. There was no way she was walking out of this with her scholarship intact. Chloe would be lucky if they didn’t end up on the run.

“Let’s haul ass,” said Max.

Chloe shook her head.

“We need to talk to him,” said Chloe. “Maybe he didn’t drug those girls, but he has to know something about the Prescotts. If we can get it out of him, we won’t need Nathan. We can get our revenge without having to talk to that freak.”

Max was anxiously chewing her lip, but she agreed. She knew Chloe was bullshitting her. Chloe still thought Jefferson was their guy. But Max wanted to keep that little sliver of doubt open.

Jefferson appeared in the doorway like a ghost, his large frame blocking their exit. Even though Max was mostly scared of getting in trouble, she had to admit that she’d never seen her idol look so intimidating.

“Chloe,” Jefferson said. “What are you doing here?”

Max answered before Chloe could open her mouth. The rewind had given them the chance to play it cool. They faked surprise when Jefferson appeared in the doorway, but they tried not to look so guilty.

“We wanted to talk to you,” said Max.

She surprised herself with her own acting skills. She sounded more confident than she felt. Chloe Price levels of confident. It almost made Max dizzy. Was this how Chloe felt all the time?

Mr. Jefferson folded his arms, but he didn’t move from the doorway.

“Oh?” he said. “Is everything alright?”

Chloe spoke up.

“No, it’s not,” she said.

Chloe swallowed. This was it. Chloe had bullshitted people before. She was a pro by this point. And if there was anyone who deserved to get bullshitted, it was Mark Jefferson. She needed the biggest and best lie in existence. Something close enough to the truth for it to sound legitimate.

“We think Nathan is going to _do something_ at the party,” said Chloe.

That wasn’t even a lie. Chloe _did_ think Nathan was going to do something. She just wasn’t sure if he was doing it against his will or not.

Jefferson frowned. He didn’t _look_ like he smelled bullcrap, but it was hard to tell.

“I’m not sure what you’re saying,” Jefferson said.

Chloe’s voice rose. She let a bit of her anger out. Just enough to sell what she was pushing. Not enough to lose control of herself and give the whole thing away. Chloe was surprised that she had so much control over herself.

“Nathan’s going to dose someone at the party,” said Chloe.

A look passed across Jefferson’s face. He probably thought Chloe and Max didn’t see it, that they didn’t notice the mask being jostled.

“This is a serious accusation,” said Jefferson. “Have you talked to Wells about your concerns?”

Chloe spread her arms dramatically.

“They’re not fucking _concerns,”_ she said. “Nathan needs help. He did something to Rachel Amber and now he’s going to—to—I don’t know. Drug some poor girl and do messed up shit to her.”

Jefferson looked at her, his eyebrows climbing his forehead. _Wow._ If Jefferson really was their guy, he was the greatest actor who ever lived. For a second, Chloe actually doubted herself. Jefferson just looked so genuinely confused and surprised by what she was saying.

“You think he has something to do with Rachel Amber?” said Jefferson.

Chloe rubbed her arm. If she was being honest, she didn’t even know anymore. The board was getting larger in her head and more players were being added. Was Principal Wells in on it? David Madsen? Frank Bowers? Damon Merrick? _Victoria?_

“We found something,” Chloe said. “At—at the junkyard. If you take us there, we can show you. We’ll tell you…everything.”

Jefferson shook his head.

“These are some serious accusations, Chloe,” said Jefferson.

He nodded at her.

“But if you really think Nathan has something to do with Rachel, I’d be more than happy to drive you,” said Jefferson. “The safety of all Blackwell students is my chief concern. And I’d like some justice for Rachel. We need to be able to put our minds at ease.”

Max spoke up.

“And then you’ll take us to the cops, right?” said Max.

Jefferson smiled at Max. And for a second—one agonizing second—Chloe almost bought it. She almost revised her entire mindset and started from scratch.

But then Chloe remembered everything from the bunker. Those photos, those shelves of binders, the fancy photo equipment. Sean Prescott. Nathan Prescott. And Chloe remembered the outrageous claim she made about Jefferson being responsible for all of this. She still backed that claim. She backed it because it was the only thing that was ever going to make sense to her, even if everything else was total chaos.

“Of course,” said Jefferson.

Chloe didn’t believe him for a second.

* * *

There was so many things that Max wanted to say to Chloe during that extremely long car ride. _“Are you nuts?”_ was ranked near the top, with _“This is fucking insane”_ stealing the top spot. But with Mr. Jefferson right next to Chloe, Max had to settle for shooting her a look every time she thought Jefferson was distracted. She got her point across.

Chloe had her arms folded. She nodded whenever Jefferson tried to say something to her. Fortunately, he eventually got the hint and stopped trying to start up a conversation. Mr. Jefferson turned his attention to Max and started chatting with her about photography. Normally Max would have been losing her mind, but all she could really muster was short one-word answers when Jefferson asked for opinions.

Chloe didn’t know what they were going to do when they actually got to the junkyard. No gun. Not even a pocketknife. Not that Chloe was the kind of person who would have kept a knife on her. Knives were cool, but keeping one stashed in her shoe? That felt like an accident waiting to happen. Chloe wished she’d revised that policy.

But she had her rewind and that had to be enough. Jefferson thought he was taking two vulnerable girls to a secluded location. He had no idea who he was messing with. Rachel Amber—or at least her spirit—wanted justice.

The junkyard was quiet and dark. After being so close to the party, the silence and stillness were almost too much. This really was a secluded spot. Preferred hangout of teenage girls and creepy drug dealers. Chloe really hoped Frank and Damon weren’t there. Jeffershit was the max level of asshole she could deal with at one time.

Jefferson got out first, followed by Chloe and finally a very reluctant Max.

“So what do you want to show me?” said Jefferson.

It was too dark for Chloe to really see the look on his face. That was actually a good thing. Chloe was afraid that if she saw his face, she might start to doubt herself again.

She pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight.

“Uh, it’s right up here,” said Chloe. “Just, um, follow us.”

She pointed deeper into the piles of trash. Without really thinking about it, Chloe aimed away from where she thought Rachel Amber’s body was.

Her and Max—Chloe leading the way with her light—started walking. They heard Mr. Jefferson following them.

Chloe shuddered. On second thought, maybe this was a bad idea. They were so far away from Blackwell. But that didn’t matter, right? Maybe this was exactly where they needed to be. Maybe Rachel Amber’s spirit had wanted them all in this particular place at this particular time. If Destiny or Fate or whoever was really on Rachel’s side, Chloe hoped her and Max would get out of this alive.

She gritted her teeth. Who the fuck was she kidding? Destiny? Fate? _Really?_ Seeing that ghost doe really must have messed with Chloe’s head. Probably because the scientist in her couldn’t accept that spirit animals were real. Because spirit animals _weren’t_ real, even if Samantha and her dumb book thought they were. This wasn’t some mystical adventure. This was two girls in a junkyard with a creepy guy that Chloe was pretty sure was a murderer.

She slowed down, shining the light around. _Crap._ She meant to head basically anywhere else, but Chloe was pretty sure they were getting close to where Rachel Amber was buried. And they couldn’t just turn around without looking sketchy.

Chloe had a terrible thought: what if Nathan had moved the body? What if he somehow realized they were onto him and decided to destroy the evidence? _Fuck._ The body was all they had. Without it, Nathan or his asshole dad could argue that those photos were staged. They could claim that they paid Rachel a shitload of money to pose for those messed up pictures. No body, no evidence, no revenge.

Max was hugging herself.

“Chloe, are you sure you know where we’re going?” said Max.

Chloe snorted.

“We were just here, Mad Max,” said Chloe. “I-I know what I’m doing.”

She bit her lip. No, she didn’t. She didn’t know what she was doing at all. It was one insane plan to another, infinitely folding into itself like multiple timelines.

They were a few feet away from where Rachel was buried. Chloe rounded another pile of trash and braced herself. She didn’t want to see it again. The first time was too much. In her head, Chloe knew that there was nothing scary about a corpse. It was just bugs, slowly rotting flesh, and gas. So why did Chloe feel so creeped out? Was it just because this was someone Max knew, someone Max cared about?

She patted her own cheek. _Get it together, Price. We can’t worry about this shit right now._

Chloe stopped in her tracks. She knew Jefferson was going to ask why she stopped. He was going to ask why she was staring at that spot so intently. Or maybe he wouldn’t. But Chloe didn’t give a crap. There was no way she was going anywhere near Rachel Amber’s body again.

She opened her mouth to say they were going back. She was already putting together another one of her brilliant lies: they _thought_ they found something, but obviously Nathan was pranking them. They needed to get back to the party, Chloe was going to say. Obviously everything was fine. Just two girls overreacting.

As Chloe started to turn around, she heard Max cry out. She whirled to look, swinging her phone around in an arc.

Chloe turned around just in time to see Max drop. Her heart went into overdrive as she watched her best friend crumple to the ground like a used piece of tissue. Max’s legs just buckled and she went down, her eyes half-shut and her arms hanging limply at her sides. She pitched to the side as she fell.

Mr. Jefferson was standing over Max, a needle in his hand. He wasn’t smiling.

“Max!” Chloe screamed.

She automatically started to raise her hand to rewind. She didn’t want to think about whether Max was dead or not. It didn’t matter.

Jefferson charged her. Before Chloe could hit her instant replay, he grabbed her. Chloe struggled, trying to jam her knee into his balls or elbow him in the face. But Jefferson was way stronger than her and way more determined. Chloe didn’t see the needle, but she did feel it. She felt the prick in her neck, almost like a mosquito bite.

Chloe’s vision went fuzzy and her arms drooped. She tried to raise her hand again, tried to use her rewind. But she couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t get a good grip on her powers. Her mind was already going to static. Chloe reached out as her strength drained, reaching for _something. Anything._ Trying to scream. But all that came out was Max’s name. She said the name over and over again, like she thought Max was going to save her.

And then she dropped. Chloe was on the ground, her vision flickering in and out as she stared up at the night sky. Her limbs didn’t even work anymore. Reality was folding all around her like a paper fan.

She thought she saw something in the sky. Chloe tried to anchor herself to it, to focus on something so she could stay awake. But it was so bizarre and impossible that it just shoved her further out to sea. She was already drifting, already miles away from land. Chloe had to let herself float away, even if she didn’t want to.

For a second before she passed out, Chloe thought she saw two moons in the sky. She thought she saw a blue butterfly flutter across her vision. The butterfly passed the two moons and disappeared.

* * *

**Epilogue**

Mikey and Steph were standing in the corner, watching people dance and talk to each other. Mikey looked like he was ready to leave and head back to his dorm. But before he could move, Stella approached them with two drinks. Mikey smiled at her and took one of the drinks.

David tucked a handgun into his holster, his mouth set in a thin line. A file filled with photos of Chloe Price was open on the table in front of him.

Frank was arguing with Damon outside of his trailer. He was gesturing wildly and Pompidou was barking.

Vanessa was sitting on Max’s bed with her phone in her hands. She was frowning as she dialed again. But her call just went straight to voicemail. Max wasn’t picking up. Vanessa bit her lip, her brow furrowed in worry. She looked up for a minute, staring at the two moons in the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's some cut content in the original game involving Jefferson and his car. As far as unused content goes, I never see anyone talk about it, so I decided to incorporate it into the ending.


End file.
